


where angels fear to tread

by lovemeter



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mob, Art History, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Falling In Love, I'm a sucker for mob aus tbh, Idiots in Love, Mild Language, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Snark, Steve is a soft mobster, Steve is the sassmaster, YN is bad with feelings, idiots to lovers, sue me, teen rating just to be safe, they're all mega stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-13 08:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 67,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21491011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovemeter/pseuds/lovemeter
Summary: Saturdays mornings are reserved for sleeping in. Yours, however, consists of a stupid art assignment and a nosy mobster.[Previously named Ignorant Beauty & the Beast of New York]
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 442
Kudos: 645





	1. Art Hoe™

_𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐧,_

_𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝. _

_𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞,_

_𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝._

* * *

There’s nothing in the world that can beat Saturday morning. A time to sleep in and be lazy with ease in your heart that you don’t have to do anything for the rest of the day.**  
**

Bucky leaned back in the office chair (one that wasn’t his) and kicked up his feet onto a neatly organized desk (not his either). His steel-blue eyes were fixated on the screen of his phone with his brows knitted in concentration. Saturday mornings were Mario Kart mornings and Bucky was never one to be less than first place.

Sam walked into the office with his eyes glued to the papers in his hand. He looks up to find someone he’s not supposed to find.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?” He asked, annoyed. Bucky’s presence was enough to annoy Sam.

“Shush, I’m in the middle of something,“ he hushed him. Sam rolled his eyes with a groan.

"Where’s the boss?”

“Didn’t I just tell you shut it, Wilson?” Bucky said again, dropping back into third place.

“Are you playing that stupid kids game again?”

“It’s rated E for everyone, punk,” he growled at him. He smiles a little when his Princess Daisy bombs Bowser.

Sam crosses his arms. “You’re not supposed to be in here,” he reminded.

“Alright, mom, what do you want?” Bucky said, his eyes finally pried away from the game.

“First get your dirty shoes off the desk and second, where is Steve?” He asked. “I’ve got some info on the delivery tonight.”

Bucky clicks his tongue but listens to him. “Tell me, Sam, what is today?”

Sam was puzzled. “It’s Saturday,” he replies.

“It’s Saturday morning,” he corrected.

“Okay, and?” he asked, growing peeved.

“Saturday mornings are when Steve goes to meet his muse.”

”[The Love Letter](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fcollectionapi.metmuseum.org%2Fapi%2Fcollection%2Fv1%2Fiiif%2F436322%2F1661166%2Fmain-image&t=ZTBhMDg5Y2EwZGUwNjBhNzMwMmI5NjUyMjIyMDJiMmQ2ZWFlMjIzNywySWRTY25xYQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AE3BJty1NnODJuLI_h4JAFA&p=https%3A%2F%2Flovemeterwrites.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F189159967691%2Fthe-ignorant-beauty-the-beast-of-new-york-ch&m=1) by Jean Honore Fragonard" you read off the pamphlet. You look up at the painting with a lopsided frown.

This was what you came all the way from Brooklyn to see? A picture of a lady with a bouquet in her hand and a small smile on her lips. At least the dog was cute but not enough for wasting a perfectly good Saturday morning on.

You didn’t understand where the appeal came from. For this painting or any other for that matter. Yeah, they were pretty but that’s it. You didn’t feel the overwhelming emotion that some felt when they looked at a masterpiece. Never have you ever been moved to tears because of painted canvas. But then again, nothing ever moved you to tears.

You groaned at the picture. “Stupid art professor,” you grumbled with your arms crossed.

You were visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art for an art history project. Your eccentric professor had given an assignment in which you had to find three pieces of artwork and write how you felt about it. She gave a list of the ones to check out first and you decided to just follow it.

You weren’t an art buff or even remotely interested in the subject. It was just a gen ed class you needed to check off and you were hating every minute of it. An hour on the subway just to look at something you could’ve googled in a second. At least you got in for free.

You huffed at the girl. “What’s so great about you anyway?”

“What’s not great about her?” a voice chimed in from your side.

You turn to find a man standing next to you, admiring the masterpiece and overhearing your conversation with the painted lady. He was drop-dead gorgeous. Looking like a blue-eyed, blond-haired Adonis that walked out of one of those thirsty cologne ads. His face was beautiful. Well-defined with a sharp jaw and angular cheekbones. The ocean blue of his eyes matching the light complexion of his skin.

He was the kind of guy that made you stop dead in your tracks. He must’ve gotten used to it by now. The natural sudden pause one made as he walked by or the way women must’ve bitten their lower lips at him in desire. He seemed like the type of guy who knew he was good-looking but didn’t pay it any mind. The type of man who would remain modest and humble.

He was dressed casually in a tan Hilfiger wool sweater, a pair of black trousers, and casual sneakers. _Oooo rich guy_, you thought as you raised a brow at his question to you.

“Pardon?” you asked.

He turns to you with a charming, crooked smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but hear you talking about Marie like that.”

“Marie?” you asked slowly.

“Yeah, that’s her name well according to some scholars,” Steve replied turning fully towards you. “Marie Emilie Boucher. She was the daughter of Fragonard’s teacher.”

“I see,” you nodded slowly, not really knowing what to say. Great, you just crossed paths with an art geek.

“So why don’t you like it?” he asked. His inquisitive eyes bore into your soul, searching for an answer.

You turned to the painting and shrugged. “It’s just another painting of a lady. One that’s not naked, _thankfully_. I just don’t see the appeal. It’s just an average painting.”

“An average painting?” he asked, completely shocked by your answer. You take a step away from him just in case he got hostile. “How could you say that?” he exclaimed. “There’s so much depth! So much mystery! So many amazing techniques hidden in it!”

“Chill, dude,” you tried to calm him down with your hands in front of you.

His shoulders dropped in disappointment. “I guess some people just have weak eyes.”

“My eyes are perfectly fine,” you retorted, offended by the strange man’s reaction. _Warning: hot guy is a jerk. But aren’t they all?_

“Then how can’t you see it?” he asked, pointing at Marie. “I mean the brush strokes, the usage of lighting and the coloring. It’s glorious. Absolutely magnificent.”

“Okay, so he painted her dress blue instead of pink, big woop.”

“It’s more than just that,” he shakes his head. “It’s the realism in it. Don’t you feel the mystery around her?”

“Sure,” you replied, not wanting him to freak out again. He chuckles at your blase attitude but goes on to speak. He’d never miss a chance to talk art.

“Look at her face,” he asks and you do as he says. “The small smile on her lips and the sneaky look in her eye showing off that she knows something we don’t. She has something we don’t have. A love letter from her admirer. A fiance? A husband? A secret affair? We don’t know and all we can infer is from the way she teases us with the name on the letter. Her expression is unmistakably coy and it only brings about the question. What could have been written in that letter? Words of deep adoration? Maybe one of a longing desire? Her behavior displays a bit of misconduct considering its time period.”

“You seem like a very nosy person,” you noted earning a chuckle from him.

“I just enjoy art,” he stated.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” you said, scribbling down some of the stuff he said. It’s not plagiarism if you’re paraphrasing.

“Are you copying down what I said?” he asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you admitted shamelessly, “you don’t mind right?” Who cared if he minded you were going to use it anyway.

“Nah, it’s fine, but it’ll cost you,” he said with a mischievous smirk. You turned to him with a raised brow. “How about you share a cup of coffee with me, beautiful?”

You groaned inwardly. Of course, the hot guy had to make a move. It was hard for them not to. It was in their blood. “Sorry,” you said, sticking your book back into your bag and taking out your pamphlet. “I’m here to work not lounge around. So I’ll see ya.” You turned on your heel and waved him goodbye.

He followed right behind with a smile on his face. “Come on, princess, that ain’t fair,” his Brooklyn accent showing just a little. “Take my words and then give me the boot.”

“You were the one yapping away,” you retorted, your strides getting wider to get away from him. It didn’t take many steps for him to reach you. “You gotta be careful with your words or anything for that matter. How do you think Rosalind Franklin felt when she got robbed by Watson and Crick?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Steve said, sidestepping you, “but you’re from Brooklyn, aren’t you? I can tell from the way you talk.”

You stop in your path when he stands in front of you. “You know the name of the chick in that painting, but you don’t know who Rosalind Franklin is? The founder of the DNA structure?”

“Well, that’s good for her,” Steve replied, not paying much mind to it to ask his own question. “You from Brooklyn?”

You pout with a deep exhale from the nose. “That’s none of your business,” you said pushing past him with your shoulder hitting his arm.

He follows you anyway, it’d take more than a shoulder bump to get the mob boss off your trail. But he guessed you didn’t know who he really was.

“Listen, jerkface,” you hiss at him when you catch him still following you. “I’ll call security if you don’t stop following me.”

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles with the corners of his eyes crinkling, the shine in his eyes unbearably alluring. “It’s gonna take more than simple security to get me away from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a thot for art and I'm a thot for him being a thot for art 🥴🥴🥴


	2. Death of a College Student

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more art talk

“Excuse me?” you questioned incredulously and a bit freaked out.

Steve gave you a charming yet crooked smile, taking note of your features with great detail. Your brows were knitted in confusion and mouth ajar in disgust. Your form leaning towards him in a primal state of attack with your hand tightly wrapped around your bag. Ready to swing if he decided to call you _ sweetheart _ one more time. 

He found it rather endearing. Attractive would be the best word.  _ Very attractive.  _ Steve knew he was a bit unhinged,  <strike> probably had something to do with his line of work </strike> , and that he did just meet you like two minutes ago but damn did he like you. 

The way you held yourself. Firm and bold in front of a man you had to look up at to get a good look in the eyes. Your curt responses and brash attitude. He liked it all very much. Bonus points for having a cute face. Extra credit for possibly being a fellow Brooklynite. 

"Sorry," he chuckled, "I didn't mean it in that way. I say stupid stuff sometimes." 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t talk at all,” you snapped, quickly turning on your heel to walk away. 

“Come on, now. If I didn’t talk, you would’ve been stuck in front of the painting for hours,” he pointed out, following behind you like a lost puppy. You grunted at his reply. He was right, but that didn’t give him the right to call you sweetheart. “I helped you and don’t you think I deserve some compensation for my contribution?” 

You stop and turn to him. “Right of course,” you said, starting to rummage through your bag. Steve smiles, already thinking of what kind of coffee he’d like to get. You take his hand a put something in it. He looks down to find a dirty penny in his hand. “A penny for your thoughts,” you smiled then turned to leave. 

Steve laughs heartily. Extra extra credit for a horrible yet good sense of humor. He wasn’t ready to quit just yet and quickly approached you, walking by your side. You huffed then turned to him.

“What am I gonna have to do for you to leave me alone?” you spat. 

“Ahh, so you are from Brooklyn,” he pointed at you. 

You groaned and he almost awwed. “Listen, asshat, I will not hesitate to break that pretty nose of yours,” you threatened.

“You think my nose is pretty? That’s kinda weird, but I’ll take the compliment,” Steve smiled teasingly. “I think you’re pretty cute overall,” he stated. 

You jump back a little when he drops that on you. Receiving compliments was scarce, especially ones about your looks from gorgeous men. A light blush slowly creeps onto your cheeks and for the first time that morning you didn’t know how to respond. 

“Alright how about I help ya?” Steve offered. 

“Help me?”

“Yeah, you’re doing some project, right?” You nodded. “And you probably have no idea what to write.” Another nod. “Then I’ll help ya. I’ll be the Rosalind Franklin to your Weston and Crack.”

“It’s Watson and Crick,” you corrected. 

“Uh-uh, no science talk,” he wagged his finger. “We don’t do that around here. This is holy ground and we only speak in the language of the arts.”

You roll your eyes at him, but don’t say anything to deny his offer. He was right. You were probably going to fail this project if he didn’t help you. So why not just take it? If he made a move, you could just kick him in the balls and make a run for it. 

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll let you help me.”

Steve beams when you accept and you couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Great let’s go.” He motions you to follow. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” you stopped him. “You don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing.” 

“Right,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Mind explaining?”

“So I have to look at three works of art in this place and write how I feel about it,” you informed. “My professor gave us a list of things that are the most famous. I already have two. So I guess we can just go to the next one on the list?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. 

“Right, so next on the list is-uh…,” you glance over the paper in your hand. “[The Death of Socrates](https://images2.minutemediacdn.com/image/upload/c_fill,g_auto,h_1248,w_2220/f_auto,q_auto,w_1100/v1554998567/shape/mentalfloss/501955-wikimedia.jpg).”

“Ah, a classic,” Steve says, walking down the hall.

“You know your way around here?” you asked, with your map in hand. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Do you work here or something?” 

Steve shakes his head with a chuckle. “No, just a humble lover of the arts.” 

Left at the end of the corridor and right at the next then walking straight down the hall brought you to the painting of the great philosopher Socrates. 

“Oh, I’ve seen this before,” you pointed at it. “We talked about this in class.”

“Yeah? What did you talk about?”

“Dunno wasn’t listening,” you shrugged. 

Steve turns slightly towards you with an incredulous look. 

“Please don’t yell at me again,” you told him. 

“I won’t, but you’re making it so hard not to,” he replied, turning his body back to the painting. “Now tell me, what period is this from?” You had to have at least caught that. 

“Renaissance,” you took a jab.  _ When all else fails it had to be the Renaissance _ .

“Wrong.” he deadpanned. “It’s Neoclassical.” As if you knew what that meant. “You’re hopeless,” he said. “You sure you’re not failing this class?”

“For your information, I have a high B,” you retorted, hands on your hips. 

“Okay,” he said doubtfully. “Neoclassical refers to a period after the Baroque. It’s simpler in terms of its style while the one prior to this was extravagant in its technique. The best thing about this painting is that it’s the perfect statement of Neoclassical technique. The stark simplicity of their statues and the focus on Ancient Greek and Roman anatomy... ” 

The guy goes on for what felt like hours and it all just goes through one ear and out the other. You quickly write down some important notes about the technique. Something to do with a focal point and the direction the natural eye would move. Blah blah blah. 

“Are you even listening to me?” 

“Yeah, I’m listening,” you replied, scribbling down words onto a notebook. He takes the book from your hands. “Hey!” 

“You’ll learn better if you listen with all your attention. Bet you when you get home, you’re not gonna understand any of this.” He said, shaking the notebook in his hand. You yanked the notebook from his hand but listened. 

“So as I was saying,” he continued, making you huff and cross your arms. “Notice how muted the colors are towards the outside of the painting and how it becomes more vibrant in the center. And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “Cause he’s in the middle?”

“Exactly,” he grins. “And why is that so important?”

The look in your eyes is blank and said:  _ you’re asking too much of me _ . Steve sighs then pointed at the painting with emphasis. “Don’t you  **see ** it?” 

“I wouldn’t be asking you for help if I did,” you snapped.

“Socrates is the subject-matter. This entire painting is about his death.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He ignores your sassy remark and continues. “Look at everyone else. They’re distraught. Broken-hearted that their beloved teacher is being forced to poison himself just because his beliefs differ from the rest of Athens,” he explained. “But look at Socrates. He stands tall. He’s not afraid of dying. Cause he knows he’s dying for what he thinks is right. He takes it as an honor. When everyone else around him is falling, he’s still strong in the face of death.”

“Man, you’re really good at this.”

Steve hunches over with a sigh. “You haven’t listened to a word I just said, did you?”

“I did!” you assured, turning back to the painting. “I think it brings about the question. How far are you willing to go for what you believe in? Even if it brought you to death, would you still stick to it?”

Steve laughs with a shake of the head. Your brows furrow in confusion. 

“Was I wrong?” you inquired.

“No,” he chuckled. “It’s just I wasn’t expecting so much from you. You caught me off guard there.”

“Jerk,” you murmured, writing a few words into your notebook for memory. You clicked the top of your pen with a satisfied smile. It was finally time to go home. 

“So about that coffee?” Steve recalled with a wickedly handsome grin. 

You groan internally, forgetting he was right there. Now it was time for an escape. 

“Oh my god! Look!” you exclaimed, pointing behind him. He turns to look and finds nothing. 

“I don’t see anything,” he shakes his head. He turns towards you or where you were supposed to be. All he found was a figure of dust and you halfway across the room. He could’ve caught up to you, but this time he decided to let you go. He chuckles to himself.  _ She’s cute. She’s really cute.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll get into the mob in the next chapter :))


	3. We Meet Again My Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was in my drafts and i felt like finishing it :) not proofread

It was rush hour on E 52nd. Two lines of steel and tire, each one tailgating the one in front with disgruntled city folk inside waiting for even an inch of movement. At the junctions, cars weaved into the traffic as seamlessly as a shuffled deck of cards only adding to the frustration of those already on the packed street. Especially, the frustration of one mobster. 

The rain softly falling from a thick blanket of gray above provides a sort of peace in the middle of such tedious traffic. Steve looks at the raindrops racing down the window of his black Mercedes AMG, his chin propped up on his hand and elbow resting on the side of the door. His patience wearing thin with every motionless minute that passed. At least he kept himself busy with his thoughts wandering off to the mystery girl from the museum. 

Secretly, he'd do anything to meet her again. She plagued his every thought, veering him from his work and making him lose all his focus in anything and everything he did. He hated it but never tried to stop it. 

He was on the way for a job with Bucky in the driver's seat and Sam in the passenger. There was a sleek Cadillac in front of them and one behind for backup as if he was the damn president. 

It was a simple job. Threaten the pastry chef down on 54th for paying up what he borrowed four months ago. Probably break a few things and stick the meatball’s head in a coffee grinder for good measure. A lot easier than most tasks and definitely not needing three luxury cars filled with notorious mobsters to finish, but then again the kingpin was never shy to boast just how powerful he was. _ Not to mention, he wasn’t much of a fan of doing the dirty work. _

“Steve?” Bucky called. Steve hummed a response, turning his towards him. “We’re here,” he says. 

“Took long enough,” Steve clicks his tongue. “You know what to do,” he tells his friend. The man nods with Sam getting out of the car. “Take the guys in the back and make sure to take the kid with you this time. ” 

Sam growls quietly. “Is that really necessary?” he questioned with his head ducked into the car. “The kid’s a troublemaker.”

Steve’s eyes flit towards him and Sam was starting to regret what he said. They were friends since high school. Steve saw Sam the same way he saw Bucky; as a brother. And treated him as such. They smoked cigars and drank liquor during Sunday football. They dragged Bucky down to the depths of hell for his lengthy history of psycho girlfriends. But when it came to the matter of the business, Steve wasn’t a friend to him or anyone else. He was his boss and his orders were firm. 

"'The kid ain't so bad," Steve said pulling a box of cigarettes out from his coat pocket. "I owe his auntie a favor so do as I say and show the boy what a good Brooklyn beating looks like." 

Sam sighs with a nod and closes the door behind him. 

“Don't worry," Bucky chimes in. "We'll take the kid," he says, unable to hide his own distaste. "I'll send him to get you when we're done." 

Steve lights his cigarette as Bucky gets out of the car. Sam hollers at Clint coming out of the car from behind, telling him to bring the boy with him. 

"C'mon, Pete," Clint hissed at the teen. "We don't got all day!" 

"Yes, sir!" Peter squeaks getting out of the car and running to catch up with them. He was around the age of nineteen but looked like he belonged in the ninth grade. A bit short and skinny with pale skin - _ paler than usual today _. 

Steve watches how the boy follows the rugged men towards the shop. Sticking out like a dandelion in a cluster of weeds. He chuckles at the way Peter frantically nods at what they're telling him. His eyes alert and footsteps light. So light that he ends up tripping over himself and into Bucky. 

Bucky smacks him on the back of the head, scolding him for being stupid. 

"Quit playing around, kid!" Bucky snaps at him. "The boss is watching ya!" 

Peter gulps, bobbing his head up and down while rubbing the back of his head before following them inside. Steve shakes his head while exhaling a puff of smoke. The boy reminded him of himself from a long time ago. The first time his old man took him out on a job. God bless his father's resting soul.

You inhaled the sweet aroma rising from the cup in your hands. Already tasting the saccharine flavor of French Vanilla on your tongue. 

The tiny cafe huddled between the high rise buildings on 54th was the best place for some quality coffee and study time. You never understood how the place could be so empty when they had the best service. 

It could have been the outward appearance that gave it a bad connotation especially on a droll, rainy winter day like today. Washed out underneath an overcast sky, it hunched in on itself, fighting against the cold rain. Hundreds of people rushed by it, out on the crowded street never giving the poor thing a chance. 

If even one ventured to come inside, they would understand just how charming the tiny shop was. Warm and cheery in its aura and its employees with bright lights and colorful walls. Not to mention in its sweet smells of hot coffee and freshly-baked pastries.

Sometimes the best places in the city were the ones no one knew anything about. And you came to the conclusion that it was a good thing. The less people knew of this place the less crowded it would be. The less crowded it was meant that it’d be quieter. The quieter it was made it an even more ideal spot for studying biological mechanisms. 

Unfortunately, today was a bad day to study at the cafe on what would have seemed to be an overall good day. Not even a second after you cracked open your notebook, a group of grisly men with guns slammed the door open and walked in, demanding to see the owner of the cafe. 

The men were ruthless and destructive, breaking everything that came in their way. Purposefully dropping the cups and plates on the counter to the ground and flipping over tables. 

The shop was empty with only you and another customer, an old man reading the newspaper by the window. 

You froze in the corner, not knowing what to do. Your heart pounding against your chest and breathing heavy. You could make a run for it but there was a good chance the guy with the long hair would catch you easily. 

The men didn't seem to care about the two bystanders, barely even noticing the two of you. Their goal was the head and there was no need for them to drag in the innocent. So you decided to stay put until action was needed. 

The owner, Manny, was dragged out of the kitchen by one of the men. 

Manny fell at the feet of the brunette who seemed to be the leader. His face twisted in fear and covered in sweat.

"Been a while, Manny, how’s it been?” Bucky asks. “Been missing ya.” 

“Please,” Manny begs, his voice strained. “I’ll pay you back just give me some time!” 

Bucky clicks his tongue. “You’ve been saying that for four months now, fatass.” He pulls Manny up by the collar. “Ya know how much the boss hates being lied to,” he seethes. 

“I know, I know,” Manny nods like a maniac. 

“I don’t think you do, buddy,” he shakes his head with a twisted grin, placing his gun underneath his chin. “The big guy is real pissed that you dipped on him and took his money on top of that. So pissed that he decided to come all the way over here to see ya.” 

Manny swallows with the color draining from his face. 

“Hey kid, go get the boss,” Clint orders Peter. 

He nods and dashes out the door to get the boss leaving all of them in horrifying anticipation. He returns in a few minutes opening the door and letting in another man. Taller with broader shoulders and a very familiar face. 

Your skin pales at the sight of the freak from the museum. 

“You!” you blurt out, pointing at him and making all eyes turn on you. 

Steve turns his head and his eyes light up. 

_ Mean Gangster Mode Deactivated _

“Rosalind Franklin!” Steve smiles at you, walking past the chaos and towards you in the corner. “How’s it going? How’d your paper go?” 

You stare at him confused. “Y-you’re a gangster!” you yelled, pointing at him. 

"Gangster's a bit vulgar don't you think?” Steve shrugged. 

"You're a fucking criminal!" you emphasized in shock. 

Bucky’s gun drops to his side, but his grip on the pastry chef remains tight. His eyes flit towards Steve then Sam then Clint. The latter two asking the same silent question with their eyes. 

"Damn, that hurt me right here,” Steve frowned playfully, pointing to his heart. “After all, I’ve done to help you? This is the thanks I get?” 

“I never asked for your help,” you spat at him. 

“Right, the whole DNA thing again,” he said. “You know, Rosy, I was really bummed out when you ditched me at the museum that day. Stripped me bare of my words and left me all alone without a goodbye. That’s cold, sweetheart.” 

“My name isn’t Rosy,” you snapped at him. “And are you mental or something? Why in the world would I drink coffee with a stranger!” 

“Then what’s your real name?” Steve asked, stepping into your space. His head leaning towards you with a loose strand of hair falling in front of his ocean blue eyes. His hand is flat against the wall behind you, caging you in from one side to keep his balance. 

You have never been this close to a man before. Especially one so effortlessly handsome and dangerous. He licks his lower lip with a sharp smile and you gulp speechlessly. 

He was dressed formally. A three-piece suit that looked very expensive, probably costing more than your scholarship. You can see the way his muscles bulge under his coat. _ He most definitely did not pad his suits. _There’s a strong urge within you, pushing you to place your hand on his chest.

Just for a second. Just to see if a man this perfect actually existed. 

You could smell the strong, crisp scent of cologne coming off of him and its intoxicatingly addictive, pulling you closer into his temptation. 

“I’d really love to get to know you more,” he crooned. 

His voice was so tender and earnest and you didn’t understand why. Neither did he. Sure he’s seen a billion pretty faces in the past, but for some reason, _ yours _ won’t leave his head. Yeah, he only met you last week without even a single detail but damn, did he want to learn all the explicit intricacies that created you. Maybe he was going mental. 

“I’ve been thinking about you lately,” he confesses. Your cheeks heat up and the tips of your ears light up. “You’re always stuck in my head,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you got me runnin’ in circles.”

His subordinates looked at him confused as if he wasn’t the mob boss but some lovesick teenager. You tried to speak, but nothing came out. 

“You’re nuts!” 

Steve laughs heartily while standing straight. “I had the feeling that’s how you’d react.” 

“You can’t just say stupid stuff like that!” you scolded him. “You don’t even know me!” 

“All the more reason for us to have a coffee together!” Steve suggested. “And how convenient for us to be in a cafe.” He turns around towards Sam still holding the owner of the shop with a gun to his head. “Hey, Manny, can I get a table for two?” 

The man nods slowly while in a chokehold.

“Great,” Steve nods and looks around the place. “God, this place is a fucking mess.” He places his hands on his hips and turns towards you. “Tell you what, how about we ditch this joint and go down to this real classy place on Hyde Ave?” 

“I’m not going anywhere with an ugly dirty mobster,” you spat at him, pushing past him and grabbing your bag. You strut past the others who were still frozen in confusion and impressed by your boldness.

Steve grins at your insult. “A pretty face and a sharp tongue?” he said, following behind. “You’re a girl after my own heart.”

“I don’t want your heart,” you snapped at him. “Or anything to do with you. Stay the hell away from me and it’ll do you some good!” you threatened before turning on your heel and pushing past the door.

Steve watches your retreating form with an even wider grin and giddy excitement in his chest. _ Playing hard to get I see. Mark my words, sweetheart, I’ll win this game. My name isn’t Steve Rogers for nothing! _

“Uh, boss?” Clint asked from behind. “Who was that?” 

Steve turns to look at him with a coy grin and the distant sound of wedding bells ringing in his ears.

"The future Mrs. Rogers." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the plot thickens...  
i was going to make this mean mob Steve but I like stupid goofy Steve far more. Stupid mob men are the way to gooooo


	4. Wherefore Art Thou My Fair Juliet?

**“Future Mrs. Rogers, huh?” **

Steve looks up from the manifest in his hand with a shy smile. “Well, um,-”

“Save it, punk,” Bucky stopped him. Steve raised a brow at him, trying to read him. Bucky smirked devilishly. “She’s cute.” 

“Back off she’s mine,” Steve said playfully, leaning back in his office chair and hooking his leg over the other. 

“Sure about that?” Bucky asked with a chuckle, pulling a chair back to take a seat. “I don’t think she really likes you.”

“What would make you say that?” 

“Well for starters she called you a dirty, ugly mobster,” Bucky recalled.

“Ain’t she the cutest?” Steve chuckled like a child. 

“Steve, that’s not how it works.” 

“Okay, so she’s a bit brash,” Steve said sitting up. “Nothing wrong with that. I like that. Think it’s really hot.” Bucky nodded not really knowing how to reply to that. “I really think she likes me, Buck, we really connected at the museum.” 

“The museum?” 

“Yeah, that’s where I met her first.” Steve informed, “on Saturday.” 

“She likes art then?” Bucky asked. 

Steve shakes his head with a smile, his thoughts returning to that day. “Not at all. She’s a dunce when it comes to art. But don’t get me wrong she’s really smart. She’s one of those science nerds.” 

“How lovely,” Bucky said, resting the side of his face in his hand while leaning on the desk. “What’s her name again? Rosy?” 

“No that’s not her real name,” Steve replied. “That’s just what I call her.” 

Bucky furrows his brows. “Then what’s her real name?”

A sudden realization comes to him. He sits straight with a blank expression. “I don’t know…” 

Bucky’s head dips with a tired sigh. Steve could have been his best friend. He could’ve been the man with over half of New York under his control. He was the most brilliant mind in the business world - _legal and illegal_. But when it came to the dating scene, he was a total dud. A simpleton. A hopeless romantic and hopeless in all things regarding romance. 

“So let me get this straight,” Bucky said with his hands. “You spent an entire morning with this chick. Supposedly had a “connection” with her but you didn’t have the decency to introduce yourself?” 

“It was a complicated morning,” Steve retorted. “I didn’t even have my morning coffee.” 

“That’s no excuse!” Bucky replied. “No wonder she hates you.” 

“She doesn’t hate me.” 

“Yeah, uh-huh, whatever you say ugly, dirty mobster.” 

Steve huffs with his lips in a frown. “She was just a little freaked out, is all! I mean it’s not every day you witness a violent shakedown. You guys overdid it.” Steve crossed his arms. 

Bucky looks at the man incredulously. “You told us to show the kid what a Brooklyn beating looks like.” 

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to go overboard,” he retorted. “You scared the poor girl. There’s just so much a pretty heart like that can take. You dirty ugly mobster. How could you?”

“Oh please forgive me,” Bucky sassed, sinking in his seat. 

The two sit in silence for a few minutes. Steve sat with a frown on his face. How could he have been so stupid? Why didn’t he ask for your name? No wonder you thought he was a creep. You probably thought he was just trying to get into your pants. 

_Steve, you stupid man, can’t you do anything right?!?! _

“So what’re you gonna do now?” Bucky breaks the silence. 

Steve looks up at him with a sad pout. A light in his brain flips on and his frown turns upside down. “You’re gonna find out who she is.” 

“What?” Bucky said, hurling himself forward. “What do you mean?” 

“Exactly what I said.” Steve smiled. “You’re gonna find out who she is and tell me. It’s your new job.” 

“That’s not in my contract.” Bucky retorted. 

“Yeah, well now it is,” Steve replied, gathering his things. “Take Sam and the kid with ya.” 

“Are you nuts?” Bucky roared. “There’s no way we can do that! There’s like a billion girls in the city!” He exclaimed, waving his arms around. “It’ll take years!” 

_ But there’s only one Rosy._ Steve thought to himself with a far-off look. 

Steve smirks as he gets up. He walks past his friend and opens the door, his keys dangling in his hand. “Then I guess you better get started.” 

  


You walked down the sidewalk, your hair fluttering in the air and clothes clinging to your body with your arms tightly wrapped around the textbook in your hand bracing yourself from the cold winter air. 

Your thoughts were stuck in the clouds making you feel out of breath and slightly dizzy. They were thoughts of a certain mobster hottie. They weren’t romantic thoughts per se. More like a mixture of confusion and fear. 

Who would’ve thought the harmless freak from the museum would end up being the most dangerous man in the city. But then again, not everything was as it seemed. Your thoughts were wrapped in him. How sweet and sassy he was at the museum and how different he was at the cafe. 

His eyes were cold and his aura was intimidating, but quickly switched to flirty and sweet when he saw you. That was what scared you the most. 

So absorbed in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the urban decay surrounding you. The decrepit pavement that looked as if it was slammed with a sledgehammer. The once perfect and smooth concrete was now broken into a network of cracks, many of them colonized by weeds. 

So wrapped up in the way his eyes twinkled and smile shined, you forgot where you were going or who was around you. People were walking by, heads topped with wool hats and bodies wrapped in uncomfortable layers of flannel and duffel. There was a boy that was walking home with you, who just so happened to notice you weren’t listening to him and he found it very annoying. 

“Y/N?” Quentin called. “Y/N? Earth to moron! Y/N!” he shakes his hand in front of your face. 

“Huh?” 

“You weren’t listening to me,” he frowned. 

“I was,” you lied. 

“Then what did I say?” 

You smiled sheepishly and he rolled his eyes. 

“My roommate’s going out of town this weekend and I was wondering if you wanted to come over? We can order a pizza and study for ochem. Maybe play some Gears?” 

“Yeah, that sounds like fun,” you agreed with a smile. 

Quentin smiles in excitement, his grip on his bag tightening. It’s been a while since the two of you had a study date. 

“What’s with you?” he changes the topic. “You’ve been out of it lately.” 

“I’m fine,” you murmured.

“No you’re not,” he deadpanned. 

“I’m just tired,” you replied. “That’s all.” 

“Something tells me it’s not,” he said. “Call it my “best friend since sixth grade” sixth sense.” 

You chuckled at him. You’ve known Quentin for a really long time. He was the first person to accept you. 

You didn’t have the best school experience. While other girls found sweet love notes in their lockers you found scraps of paper telling you to kill yourself, that you were the ugliest girl in school. No one wanted to be your partner in gym class. No one asked you out to a homecoming dance or invited you to sit with them during lunch. 

You were unwanted and alone and learned to accept it. If your own parents didn’t accept you then why would anyone else? 

That was until you met Quentin. He asked to sit next to you in science class on his first day and you were speechless when he did. It only got better as the days went by. He sat with you during lunch. He made you laugh in the library until the librarian kicked you out. He made you feel wanted and special.

“Well?” he called you back. “You gonna tell me?” 

“It’s nothing,” you assured. 

“Y/N,” he doted like a father. 

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t quit until you told him. The grip on your book tightens as you shrink into your scarf. 

“I met this guy,” you confessed with a light blush.

Quentin chuckles at your cute behavior, but for some reason, it hurts a little. “That’s good.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not good.”

He raises a brow. “Why not?” 

“Because he’s bad,” you told him. 

He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?” 

“He’s bad.” 

“Bad in like he’s hot?” 

“No!” you replied quickly. Well,…he was hot. “I’m talking about the other kinda bad.”

Quentin chuckles. “I didn’t know you were into bad boys,” he wiggled his brows. 

“It’s not like that!” 

“Then what is it like?” 

“I don’t know…bad,” you reiterated. You didn’t really want to give him the details. He’d only worry, possibly scold you for talking to strangers, and you really didn’t need that right now. “He’s nice just a bit…strange.” 

“Want me to kick someone’s ass?” he asked. 

You shake your head with a chuckle. “No, not yet. I think I can handle it.” 

Quentin frowns a bit, but you didn’t really notice. He didn’t like how vague you were being or how the idea of some guy bothering you was stuck in his head now. But he didn’t show it. You were strong and knew how to take care of yourself. He knew how much you liked your space. But even then, it didn’t stop him from worrying. It didn’t stop him from wishing you’d open just a bit after all these years. He never told you that though. He always had a way of hiding his feelings when it came to you. 

Your lips slanted into a downward curve and brows furrowed in concentration. Quentin wraps an arm around your shoulders, shaking you out of your daze. You turn to look at him and he has a wide smile on his face.

“Come on, let’s go get some coffee,” he said. 

“I’m broke at the moment,” you reminded him. 

“On me then,” he offered, “we gotta get you back down to earth.” 

You chuckled following him. He always had a way of making you feel better. 

“Man this is the stupidest shit I’ve ever done,” Sam groaned. 

“Not as stupid as the time you licked that water pipe in ten-degree weather,” Bucky stated.

“In my defense, I was drunk off my ass.” 

“You actually did that,” Peter asked from the back of the car. “Wow, even I’m not that stupid.”

Sam turned around to glare at the boy. Peter melted into the leather seat in fear. 

“Why did we bring him with us?” 

“Steve said so,“ Bucky answered, lighting up a cigarette. 

Sam groaned loudly. "First we get stuck with this horrible job then we gotta drag the kid with us. He’ll just slow us down!" 

"I’m faster than you, Grandpa,” Peter sassed making Bucky snort with the stick in his mouth. 

“It’s taking every ounce of goodness in me to not beat the crap out of you right now,” Sam told him. 

“That’s child abuse and I’ll report you." 

Sam faces forwards, murmuring under his breath. "I will not kill the kid. I will not kill the kid." 

"Hey, Pete, wanna smoke?” Bucky asked, pointing the box towards him. 

“Sure,” he reached out for one. 

Bucky smacks him on the back of the head. “Don’t even think about, punk, you’re underage." 

"Then why’d you offer?” Peter asked annoyed, rubbing the back of his head. 

“I was testing ya,” Bucky replied. “And now that I know, if I catch you smoking I’m kicking your butt. You hear that?" 

"Yeah,” he mumbled. 

“Excuse me?" 

"Yes sir,” Peter corrected himself. The boy leaned against the car door, peeking out the window watching pedestrians walk by. “Uh, Sir?" 

"What is it, kid?” Sam asked. 

“If we’re supposed to find some girl shouldn’t we be outside? Why are we sitting in the car?" 

It’s quiet for a minute. Peter raises a brow at the two. 

"It’s cold outside,” Bucky confessed. 

Peter’s lips parted slightly in shock. _Some ruff-n-tuff mobster you are. _

“I mean do you really want to go searching for the girl?” Sam asked him. “We’ll just sit around for a while and tell the big guy we can’t find her." 

"But that’s not honest!” Peter sits up, squeezing into the small space between them. 

Bucky laughs at him. “This is the mob, kid, honesty doesn’t exist around here." 

Peter frowns and crosses his arms while sitting back. "It’s still wrong. The boss really likes this girl. Shouldn’t we help?" 

"We’ll be helping him by not finding the girl,” Sam informed. “Trust us when we say that the boss’ had his fair share of heartbreak. The last thing he needs is another girl." 

"What do you mean?" 

"It’s a long story,” Bucky tried to change the topic. “I’ll tell you some other time. But don’t go blabbin’ to the boss that we told you that. Ya hear?" 

Peter nodded in curiosity. The mob boss was suffering from heartbreak? 

"Holy shit, Buck, it’s her!” Sam exclaimed, pointing out the windshield. 

Bucky almost drops his cigarette in surprise. “Oh my god, what do we do?" 

"Get out of the car, we can’t lose her!” Sam shouted, opening the door to his side. 

“I thought you said we weren’t going to find her." 

"She’s right there, Pete, we can’t just let her go,” Bucky said, getting out of the car. “Now get out of the damn car!" 

Peter gets out of the car with a groan. These two were beyond confused and now they were getting him confused. 

"Now what do we do?” Peter said, feeling stupid by just being next to the two. 

“Uhm,” Bucky thought. He pushes Peter in your direction. “Go talk to her.”

“What!? Why me?!” Peter questioned. 

“Because…” Sam started. “This is…this is your initiation into the gang." 

"Yeah, that’s what this is,” Bucky pointed up. “Now hurry up before she gets away." 

"You’re just pulling that out of your ass!” Peter retorted. “I’m not gonna go talk to some girl I’ve never met before. That’s weird." 

"Listen, punk, you either do it or you’re dead,” Sam threatened. “I don’t think you’ve seen what a real Brooklyn beating looks like." 

Peter gulps. He turns to see you and a boy walking away, slowly fading from his view. 

"What’s it gonna be then?" 

"Okay, okay, I’ll do it,” Peter assured. He turned on his heel, his steps getting wider to catch up. “Lazy ass mobsters,” he grunted.

“I heard that asshole!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to update but then my hands slipped. I just enjoy writing for this :// LMAO SO I found this song that I feel matches this story. OR I just really like listening to it when I write…it’s from a kdrama so it's not in english. It's called a  
[Heartbeat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yogaAzfzpkk) ... THE LYRICS ARE CHEESY but that’s Steve in future chapters. I have decided this is gonna be a VERY SOFT Mobster fic.


	5. What's In A Name

_ I am boo-boo the fool. _

Peter stalked down the crumbling sidewalk, cursing himself for actually agreeing to this. 

Sure he was a weird guy and had a girlfriend who took it upon herself to make sure he knew that, but he wasn't this weird. 

If this was what the mob was all about he was ready to bounce out. But once you're in, you're in and there's no way out. 

_ Alright, Petey, you're fine. You got this in the bag, bro. You're gonna bump into her, make her drop her books, and casually start a conversation. Be smooth. Be cool. _

"Who am I kidding I'm not cool," he whined to himself. He turns back to see the two goons looking at him with very stern looks. How unfitting for a pair of clowns, he thought. 

His heart skips a beat when he sees the two friends turn and walk towards him. 

_ Oh my God. Ok, it's happening. Everybody stay calm. EVERYBODY STAY FUCKING CALM. _

His breathing is short and rapid with every step closer getting heavier. The two of you were right in his path and all he had to do was keep on chugging forward until you swerved to his left just a bit. 

_ No, no, come back. _

"So I was checking the pH of my solution of aluminum dichromate until-" Quentin spoke as they walked. 

Peter starts to panic as the two were about to walk by him. Before he could even think about what to do, his body turns automatically and slams into you. 

"Yikes," Bucky grimaced at Peter from afar. "He's bad at this." 

You fall back onto Quentin making him drop the folder in his hand along with your textbook. 

"Watch it!" Quentin hissed. "Can't you see where you're going?" 

"S-sorry," Peter's lip quivered. "I didn't see you guys, haha," he laughs nervously. 

"Hey, it's no problem," you waved it off. "Ignore my friend he's a bit of a jerk at times." Quentin clicks his tongue but doesn't say anything. 

"Still I'm really sorry," Peter replies, as you crouch down to gather the papers that spilled out of your book. "Here let me help," he follows suit. 

"Don't you think you've helped enough?" Quentin asked, picking up some papers. You turned towards him with a harmful glare and he huffs. 

"Sorry, I'm a total klutz," Peter apologizes, collecting as many papers as possible. He caught a name written in the left-hand corner of the paper and smiled wickedly. 

"Like taking candy from a baby," he whispers with a chuckle. 

"Sorry, did you say something?" You asked, already standing with Quentin. 

"Oh no! I was just - uh sorry," he gets up and hands you the papers. "I just realized I've got to go," he turns on his heel towards the two clowns. 

"Not this way, moron," Sam hissed while shaking his head while Bucky made a cutting motion across his throat with his hand. 

"Haha, wrong way," Peter chuckles. "Silly me," he walks past them in the opposite direction. "See ya!" 

You wave out of courtesy while Quentin raises a brow. "What's he talking about? When is he ever going to see us again?" 

"He was just being polite," you sighed, walking by him. "Maybe you should take a page out of his book." 

"I'm nice," he defended.

"Only when you want to be," you said, a chuckle coloring your words. 

"But I'm always nice to you," he pokes the side of your arm. 

"You're an idiot, Beck," you shake your head, fighting the light blush that was rising. 

"Crap, she's coming this way," Bucky panicked. 

"Just act natural," Sam advised. The two of them whistled against the car while the two walked by, catching a quick glance. 

A few minutes later, Peter came back around the block, out of breath from running.

"Sheesh, kid, that was horrible," Bucky nagged.

"Can it, geezer, it's my first time," Peter sassed between breaths. "Did I pass, though?" 

"What?" Sam asked. 

"Did I pass the initiation?" 

"Oh uh yeah," he replied. "So?" 

"So what?" Peter stands straight. 

"What's her name, you dingus?" Bucky questioned. "Don't tell us you did all that and got nothing out of it." 

"Oh I've got a name," Peter smirked. 

"Well, spit it out!" 

He tells them your name and both of them raise a brow.

"You sure?" Sam asked incredulously. 

"Hundred percent I saw it on her paper." 

Bucky shrugs. "I mean if it's on paper." 

"Still it seems wrong." 

"Her name's Quentin?" Steve asked, a bit of doubt in his voice. 

"Am I speaking French?" Bucky retorted. "Yes, it is." 

"Isn't that a guy's name?" He questioned with furrowed brows. "Like an old butler name?" 

"Maybe her parents wanted to be different?" Sam suggested. 

"I don't know," Steve shakes his head. "You sure you got the right girl?" 

"We're absolutely positive," Bucky states. "Right, kid?" He asks Peter who was standing in the corner. 

"Uh-huh!" Peter nodded. "It's definitely her, Sir! You can't forget a face like that." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve questioned firmly. 

"N-nothing!" Peter replied. This was probably the most he ever talked to the man and he didn't want to get on his bad side. "She's just pretty, is all." 

A vein in Steve's head snaps at his statement. 

Bucky rubs his face with a sigh while Sam whispered to the boy. "Bad move, kid." 

"Yeah?" Steve's voice goes dangerously low as he shoots an icy glare in Peter's direction causing a shiver to run down the boy's spine. "Keep your eyes to yourself, Parker, or I'll yank 'em out myself." 

"I have a girlfriend," Peter retorted and another one of Steve's veins snapped. 

"You tryna say she's not good enough for you?" He barks, ready to flip over his desk as he stands. "She's not pretty enough?" 

"No! That's not what I meant at all!" he tried to explain while hiding behind Sam. "I was just-" 

"Take it back or I'm kicking your ass back to preschool!" Steve yells, ready to swing. 

"Steve, calm down," Bucky said coming in between them. "He's just saying she's pretty and that she's all yours, okay?" He explains like a mother to a child. 

Steve huffs, lips curled in a pout. He peers over Bucky's shoulder to look at the curly-haired brunette hiding behind Sam. 

Peter quickly whips his head behind Sam to hide. Steve groans. 

"I already know that," Steve affirmed. "I don't need some kid to tell me that." 

"Mr. Sam, I'm scared," Peter whispered from behind. 

"Just shut up, kid, you're just making it worse," Sam sighed. 

"So her name's Quentin," Steve sighed, leaning against his desk. It doesn't settle well with him. But you were already a mystery to him so why not add that to the mix? He shakes his head in amusement. 

"Don't like it?" Bucky asked. 

"It's kinda weird, but then again so is she," he chuckles. "Ah my fair Quentin, there is no being as beautiful as thee." 

Sam gags at him. "Stop this is gross. I'm out of here," he said in disgust before turning on his heel and leaving. 

"Wait for me!" Peter shouts behind, quickly escaping his boss's murderous aura. 

Steve remains indifferent towards Sam's reaction and even lets the kid go punishment free. And it's all because he's on a ship to La La Land where you're waiting for him with a kiss. 

"Steve?" Bucky calls him. "Steve?" He waves a hand in front of him. No response. "Stevie!" He shouts. 

"Yeah?" The blonde replied with a dazed expression and a dreamy look in his eye. 

Bucky was observing him. He had been for a few days now. The daydreaming. The hushed giggles. The way he was acting right now. They were all symptoms of a little thing called falling in love and Bucky wasn't sure if it was good for him. 

He agreed that Steve deserved love, but was this the right way to do it? It was all too dangerously fast. 

He opens his mouth to speak, trying to find the right way to word it. 

"You're not...you're not falling in love are you?" Bucky asked, warily. 

A light blush creeps onto the blonde's cheeks and he's left gaping at his question. He chuckles awkwardly.

"No, Buck, I-I," he tries to say it but it doesn't come out the right way. A picture of you flashes through his mind. _ That damn girl. _

"I'm not sure," he shakes his head then looks over to him with a small smile. "She just won't leave my head." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be a fated encounter of our lovers...but is it quentin or y/n?


	6. I'm Your What Now?

Ah, Columbia University. The pride and joy of New York. The mecca for philosophical thinking and scientific advancement. 

It kept only the cream of the crop. Sons and daughters of the wealthy, valedictorians, and exceptionally bright international students. The future president. The next Plato. Another Einstein. 

There was a certain standard that came with being a student here. The ooh's and ah's and the jealous eyes that bore into their backs were natural for these Ivy League students. 

And yet as Steve stood there he found it to be like the overpriced Catholic school he spent twelve torturous years at. After school, he didn't really see a reason to go to university. His future was predetermined and he had no desire to go against it.

Steve wasn't stupid. He was intelligent. An expert in combat and tact and a mogul in the business world. His performance was better than his peers with their fancy degrees and certifications. He had them under his foot and they only moved when he let them. 

It just went to show that knowledge and wisdom didn't come from going to a fancy school. It came from experience and hard work, rigor, and determination. But even so, he couldn't help but feel an odd sense of pride in his chest when he learned you attended Columbia. 

_ Mrs. Rogers, you genius woman. _

He sprinted up the steps and in towards the overarching gate. It was like a world populated by teenagers. Here, twenty-five was considered middle-aged. They milled around clad with backpacks and textbooks usually in a small group of three or four. Some passed by on bikes while others strutted to the beat of their music. 

There were a plethora of styles. Punks and goths. Preps and jocks. Basic white girls with their leggings and UGGs. Snazzy poets in all black and topped with berets. Those avant-garde chicks that had an aesthetic like none other. Diversity was key at Columbia. The world was being represented here. 

Steve passes by, following google maps on his phone to find the Student Resource Center in a hope to find you there. 

** _A day ago…_ **

"Okay," Sam sighed, holding a paper in his hand with a laptop sitting on Steve's desk. "Quentin Beck, a biochemical engineering student at Columbia. Around twenty-one years old and is most likely a total geek." 

"Hey," Steve warns. Bucky snickers like a child, chomping loudly on some potato chips. 

"Sorry," Sam replied. "No social media accounts. Not even an old facebook. You sure this chick's not a hermit?" 

"She's probably focusing on her studies. She's diligent." 

"You're defending her as if you know her," Bucky piped up.

"I do know her," Steve said. 

"Yeah, that's why you're googling her like a pervert." 

"Shut up before I punch your teeth out." 

"Anyways," Sam called them back. "She's on the school website." 

"She is," Steve pushes him to the side. "Lemme see." 

"There's no picture. It's just a list of tutors." 

"She's a tutor? Smart chicks are so hot." 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I can hear your heart pounding all the way over here," he said lazily while sitting at his desk. 

"Get your dirty shoes off my desk." 

"Make me," Bucky taunted. 

"So it's got hours of availability here," Sam said scrolling down. "Like when she's working." 

"Ya know Sam I know you're a freak and all, but this is low, even for you," Bucky said, his feet still on the desk and his right hand greasy with potato chips. "I didn't know you were as big of a creep as Stevie." 

"I wouldn't be talking, Mr. I stalk my ex's insta at four in the morning." Sam retorted, making Steve chuckle. 

"I don't!" 

"Bro, I saw you the other day!" 

"What the hell are you doing at my house at four in the morning, you freak?" 

Nat walks in to see the three lazing around and sighs. Sam quickly slams the laptop shut and Bucky slips his feet off the desk. 

"What are you three doing?" She asked. 

"Nothing," Steve smiled. 

"For NY’s biggest mob man, you sure do suck at lying." He frowns. "You're also pretty horrible at signing your own damn name on important papers." She said, waving a paper in her hand. "What the hell are these hearts?" 

"That's not me!" He retorted with a light blush. "How do I know it's not you?” 

"You really think I have the time to do that?" She snapped at him. "We've got shipments coming in today and you have a meeting with the Gambino head tomorrow. Do you have anything prepared?" 

"No…" he whispered. 

"Am I the only one working around here?!" She shouted making the three cringe at her shrill voice. "What have you three been doing all morning anyway?" 

"Planning," Bucky spoke up and Steve whipped his head towards him. _ Bucky if you say anything. _

"Planning?" 

"Yeah, we're planning Steve's wedding." 

Nat almost snaps her neck by the way she turns to look at him. Her red locks bouncing around as she turns. She gapes at him with a million questions. 

Steve sighs, rubbing his face with his hands in embarrassment. 

"Stevie, you're getting married?!?!" 

"Sn2 Reactions have bulky bases and only occur when you have…" you said, snapping your finger to remember what comes next. "Wait, don't say it," you stop Quentin. "Primary carbocations!" 

"Correct," he smiled, looking up at you from the flashcard in his hand. "Man, you're just killing it today." 

"I've been studying," you informed. "...and living in Chubbic's office. 

"And it shows," Quentin chuckles. 

Tutoring was slow today with only a student here and there, leaving you and Quentin with some prime time to study. 

"I swear all you ever do is study," Quentin said. 

"No, I don't," you denied. "Last night, I played Overwatch till three." 

"Okay, scratch that, you're a geek." Quentin corrected. You huffed. 

"No, I am not," you retorted. 

"Y/N, you don't do anything but school and work. You don't even go to parties or socialize with other people." 

"People are overrated. I have better things to do with my time." 

"Like what?" 

"Like...stuff," you said. 

Quentin rolls his eyes. "You can't keep living a shelled life, Y/N. It's not healthy." 

"I don't see how it isn't." 

"You have to go out and make friends. You're gonna go crazy if you sit in your apartment forever," Quentin sounded like a mom. 

"Quentin, my dude, it's the 21st century. Technology exists." 

"That's not good for you either!" Quentin sassed then sighed. "All I'm saying is that you should be more open. Not everyone is out to hurt you." 

You sink in your chair with a frown. You look out the window of the second floor to watch people walk by meters below. "But that’s how it always is in the end," you murmured. Quentin frowns. "Besides what do I need anyone else for? I have you." 

Quentin's heart skips a beat, but he tries to ignore it. "But what if I'm not here? What if I have to leave?" 

You sit up. "Where are you going?" 

"I applied for this internship for this company in London." 

"Wow, Quint! That's great!" You exclaimed. "I know you'll get it!" 

"Thanks," he chuckles at your enthusiasm. "But I just worry about you sometimes. You're going to be all alone if I leave and I worry if you'll be alright." 

"Then I'll call you every day!" 

"Y/N," Quentin said with a lopsided smile. "I'm being serious." 

You exhaled, masking the fear of him leaving by giving him a bright smile. One that's always only been for him. "Don't worry about me, alright? I'll be fine. You go out there and show 'em what you're made of. You're gonna kill it." 

"Yeah?" He asked and you can sense the nervousness in his shaking hands. 

"Like my good friend Naruto once said…" you alluded. "Believe it!" You said, giving him a thumbs up. 

Quentin groans while crossing his arms. "You still watch that crap?" 

"It's cool!" you defended. 

"I swear you're a nerd." 

"Hey, Quentin," Angelica from the front desk called walking towards you. 

"Yeah?" 

"There's a guy at the desk asking for you," she pointed. 

"For me?" He asked puzzled. She nodded before leaving. 

He gets up to leave. "I'll be right back. E1 reactions are next," he reminded. You nodded with a chuckle and took the cards he left. 

Quentin walks up to the desk to find a blonde dressed stylishly at the front desk, chatting up one of the employees.

“Oh, Quentin,” Maria at the desk said as he arrived. “This is Mr. Rogers.” 

Steve turns to look and his shoulders drop. “Uh, sorry, I think they’ve got the wrong person.” Quentin furrows his brows in confusion. “I’m looking for a Quentin Beck.” 

“Um, I’m Quentin Beck,” he replied awkwardly, shaking the photo id that was around his neck.

“No, no,” Steve shakes his head. “I’m looking for a girl and her name is Quentin Beck.”

“There’s only one Quentin Beck here and he’s a man and it’s me,” he said in the nicest way possible. 

Steve snorts. “Just because you grew a little beard doesn’t mean you’re a man,” he guffawed.

Quentin blinks once and then twice and a third time for good measure. “Excuse me?” 

Back over at the table, you wondered what was taking Quentin so long. Taking a sip from your Hydroflask, you crane your neck to get a view of the front desk. The head full of blonde hair and spread of broad shoulders was hard to miss. You choked while drinking. Quickly placing your bottle on the table, you pat your chest in need of air. 

What was he doing here?

You quickly jump up and run to the two. Steve catches you in the corner of his eye and pushes past a fuming Quentin. 

“I knew I’d find you here!” he exclaimed. 

“What the hell are you doing here, you freak?” you seethed. 

“What do you think?” Steve chuckled, loving the way you pouted at him. “Here to see you, princess.” 

Your cheeks burst in color and before you could say anything Quentin spoke. 

“Y/N, you know this guy?” he asked. 

“Y/N, so that’s your real name,” Steve takes both of your hands in his. His smile is so bright that you cringed under him. “I knew it wasn’t Quentin. I mean it doesn’t even make sense,” he starts to ramble and you just listen. “To think someone as pretty as you would have a name as ugly as Quentin. Like who the hell names their kid Quentin these days anyway?” 

“Ah, Y/N,” Steve sighs dreamily. “It’s like a sweet melody to my ears.” 

You tried to reply, but all you could let out was a garbled jumble of words. 

“Quentin’s a good name!” your brunette friend jumped in. 

“Yeah, if it’s the 18th century,” Steve deadpanned, before turning back to you. “Anyways…”

“Y/N, who the hell is this guy?” he questioned irritated.

“Uh, well, you see, um…” you tried to explain. 

“Been keepin’ me a secret, huh, baby?” Steve chuckled. “I’m Steve, a friend.”

“We aren’t friends,” you hissed, breaking from his grasp. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone, huh?” 

“Wait,” Quentin butt in. “Is he that guy?” he pointed at Steve while looking at you. “Is he the bad guy?”

“Bad guy?” Steve asked you, making you blush under his gaze. “So you have been talking about me? Y/N, sweetheart, I ain’t a bad guy. I promise I’ll be nothing but good to you,” he said with a wink. 

It’s like every ounce of sass inside of you is gone and you’re left speechless. _ Screw this man and his way with words. _

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his soft plump lips before Quentin butts in and swipes your hand. 

“Yeah, she told me about you,” he hurls at him, his voice firm and his grip on your hand firmer. “Who the hell do you think you are, messing with my girlfriend?” 

Steve is taken aback by his words and you gape at Quentin. You’re his what now? 

Quentin looks towards you and sends a message with his eyes. _ Just play along. _

“Y-yeah,” you stumbled at first, “Quentin’s my boyfriend and I like his name! Actually I love it because I love him.” you straight up lied. Steve’s brows creased in irritation and he had the biggest frown on his face. You wrap your arms around Quentin’s. “So leave me alone, freak,” you hissed at him. 

Now it’s Steve’s turn to be speechless. Your words pierce through his heart like a bullet. It’s like being shot in the core of his spirit over and over again until there’s a big gaping hole. 

“Listen, jackass,” Quentin calls him back. “If you even look in my girlfriend’s direction, I’ll rip your eyes out,” he threatened, before turning around and taking you with him. 

“Wow,” you whispered to him. “I think he bought it.” 

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” he said, clearly dissatisfied. 

“Shut up and kiss me on the cheek.” 

“What?” he freaked out with a light red creeping on his cheeks. 

“Just do it,” you ordered quietly. “And wrap your arm around my shoulders.” 

He sighed. “The things you make me do,” he groaned, making you chuckle quietly. He places a sweet kiss on your cheek while hooking his arm over your shoulders protectively. He turns his head to see Steve still standing there. His face twisted in a scowl and fists balled so tight you could see white in his knuckles. 

Quentin’s sharp blue eyes locked with his own. His gaze was as deadly as a violent act with an intensity that had the fearless mob man’s chest tighten. His eyes drilled out any notion that it could all be a hoax. Either he was a really good actor or there really was something between the two. 

Whatever it was, Steve stood still with a strange sense of deja vu. He was a hopeless romantic and hopeless in all things that concerned love. And as he watches your retreating form chuckling at something the boy whispered in your ear, he regrets even thinking he had another chance at love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an unexpected update! Oh my, this is a mess now and I don't know how to untangle it ajsdkals HALP....


	7. How To Keep Meeting Your Beloved Stalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't know what this is but hope you like it haha

_ "I'm coming," Nat hollered from the kitchen, turning down the heat of her stove. She walked towards the door and opened it to find Steve standing, a sopping wet mess. _

_ His clothes were drenched from the rain. His hair a disheveled mess and face flushed as if he'd been crying. He had a bouquet of soggy red roses hanging in his hand with water dripping off the petals, making a puddle on her carpet. _

_ "Stevie, what the hell?" Nat asked. "Are you okay?" _

_ Without a word, Steve slammed into Nat almost knocking the wind out of her. His wet coat arms wrapped tightly around her and he sniffles in her shoulder. _

_ "She left, Nat," his voice dripping with pain. "Peggy left me in the rain," he choked out. _

_ "Oh, Stevie," was all she could say as she rubbed his back, not even caring about getting wet. _

_ "She told me that she'd never leave but she did," he said. "I loved her, Nat. I really loved her." _

_ His words stung her heart and even the hardened black widow couldn't help but shed a tear. She had never seen him so broken. _

_ He pulls away and digs his hand into his pocket. He takes out a velvet box and opens it to reveal a shining diamond ring. _

_ Her lips parted in shock. "Steve…" _

_ "I was gonna ask her to marry me," he sniffled. "But she told me that she'd never marry a devil like me." _

_ Nat's lips twisted into a scowl. Her hands cup his cold face. A sort of warm respite for him. _

_ "You're not a devil, you hear me?" Nat stated. "And she's a damn fool for leaving you." _

_ She pulls him into another hug and it's quiet besides the slow humming of a steaming pot. With a slowly boiling anger within her, all she could think of was how much she'd love to beat the shit out of that bitch. _

His eyes held a gaze more fearsome than a tiger. A thin paper cigarette hung from his bottom lip, a small trail of smoke escaping from the corner of his mouth and dancing upwards towards the ceiling. The air around him was majestic like a king on a throne. But he was far from his kingdom. 

"So," Steve started, getting comfortable in a leather tufted seat. "A little bird told me you guys have been sneaking behind my back," Steve stated, looking up at the two brothers in front of him. 

The tan skinned brunette smiles at him puzzled, but the way he shifted in his office chair uncomfortably was enough to answer Steve's conjecture. 

"Don't know what you're talkin' about," Lucky shakes his head. 

Lucky Gambino. Age 32. Italian. Head of the Gambino Crime Family presiding over Staten Island. 

"C'mon Rogers," his younger brother Sunny drawled. "You think we'd be sneaking behind your back?" 

"I've got eyes everywhere, Sunny," Steve stated calmly, setting a sinister air to the room. "Hard for anything to pass by me." 

Sunny chuckles with his hands in his pockets and leaning against his brother's desk. The room was dimly lit despite it being well into the afternoon. Sunbeams filtered through the half lidded blinds, acting as a sort of spotlight for the fumes that escaped their cigarettes. 

"Stevie, y'know us well," Lucky spoke with his hands. It's just an Italian thing. "We went to Saint Anselm's together. Played ball in that rundown field between Gino's Pizza. You remember those days?" 

Steve nods with a small smile. "Yeah, I do." 

"Our pop's worked with yours' for years. We've got a bond. You're like family, man," Sunny said. 

Steve smirked. Good thing he wasn't so sentimental when it came to the business. 

"Then what's this news about you and Hydra working together?" 

"Hydra?" Lucky guffawed. "You think we'd be working with those no-names?"Sunny laughed along. 

"We aren't the Brooklyn Mob, but we're sure as hell not some third-rate gang like Hydra. We're the Gambinos, we'd never stoop that low." 

Steve chuckled along. "Right," Steve said while getting up. "I guess there's nothing I need to worry about here." 

"Not a damn thing," Sunny assured. "We're on your side, big boss." 

Steve chortles as he turns to leave. He gives them a nod as he exits the room. 

"Have a good day, Mr. Rogers," the receptionist said with a smile as he walked by. 

"You too, Miss Hill," he grinned with the corners of his eyes and a wave of his hand. He pressed the button of the elevator and entered it, listening to something rustling behind him. 

He turns to see Maria getting up from her desk, her heels clicking as she walked towards the office. A gun complete with silencer resting snug between her fingers. 

"Maria," he called and she turned to look at him. 

"Don't make a mess," he gave her a half smile. 

She snorts with a sly smirk as the doors of the elevator begin to close. 

"You know I never do." 

Nat plopped herself on top of Bucky's desk. 

Bucky smiles at her, slightly peeved by the way she carelessly sits on the manifest for the next delivery. 

"May I help you?" 

"In fact you can," she replied devilishly. 

Bucky sits back in his chair as she hooks her leg over the other giving him a nice view of the outline of her salacious legs in a tight-fitting pencil skirt. 

If he was any other man he would've been drooling a river by now, but after years of working together, Nat was just one of the guys. Nothing she did ever fazed him. _ Not like she was trying to or anything. _

"How can I help you, Miss Romanoff?" 

She bites her lip and he can tell something was bothering. "I'm worried." 

"About?" 

"About Steve," she said. 

"I second that," Sam piped up from the other side of the room. "He's been kinda out of it, lately." 

"It's because of the girl," Nat informed. 

Bucky groaned while sinking in his chair. "I know." 

"So what're we gonna do about it?" Sam asked. 

"I don't know," Bucky shrugged. "Just let him be. He'll get over it." 

"It's been a week," Nat pointed out. 

"And your point is?" 

"Steve's made thirteen horrible decisions in the past week and he went to see the Gambinos today and I know for a fucking fact that it didn't end well." She sighed, crossing her arms. "I'm just worried about him," she confessed. "I mean after Peggy he's never really been the same and this girl just made it worse." 

The two fell silent at the mention of Peggy. She was just one of those people that they didn't talk about, especially when Steve was around. 

"I know that you are," Bucky said. "We all are, but you know Steve. He doesn't want help until he asks for it." 

"We can't just sit here and ignore it!" Nat bent forwards and into him. He shrinks underneath her. "If he keeps this up, he's gonna die!" 

"Don't you think that's a bit dramatic," Sam stated. 

"Okay maybe not die but the direction he's going in it's only going to get worse," Nat said. "He still remembers her," Bucky's eyes shot up to look at her. "He still has that ring," she told them in a hushed voice. 

She looks down to her hands in her lap. Her emotions were not easily hidden. She could've been the toughest in the mob but Bucky knew she was a softie at heart. Her worry was evident in the crease of her lovely brows and the down-curve of her full lips. 

"Hey," Bucky called softly, placing his hand on top of hers. She looks up at him through red locks to find him smiling sweetly. 

"It's gonna be fine, okay?" 

"How do you know?" Nat question with a pout. 

"Cause this is Stevie we're talking about," Bucky said. "No matter how far he falls, he always gets back on top." 

One look into his steel-blue eyes, gleaming with a hidden affection, was all Nat needed to know that maybe everything really was going to be okay. 

He glided along the white floors of the museum. Walking past bundles of children led by their teachers and casual visitors like a specter. 

Steve had been to the Metropolitan more times than he could count on both hands. Art was his faithful lover and the galleries filled with masterpieces were his solace. But today, he didn't pay attention to the swirling brushstrokes of Van Gogh or the painstakingly pointillistic style of Suerat. 

Today was a day for his thoughts. A day to reflect on his past. How was it that just a thought could bring back long buried emotions and stir what was settled? Maybe that was why his mother said to leave things be, to not go walking into the past so blindly. 

But what else is there to do when the way forward is the way back? 

He finds himself in front of the old painting where he first met her. It could have been over three hundred years but Marie's lively youthfulness was eternal. He observes her, the way she teased him with her coy smile, hiding her letter from his eyes while sitting at her desk.

For some reason, he feels like she's taunting him. 

_ You fool, you overdid it. You fall too fast. _

"Yeah, I know," he huffed. 

He hears your dull voice in his ears. 

_ It's just an average painting. _

He chuckled. He didn't understand how you took the everlasting masterpieces that were lauded through time so lightly. How you didn't see them the way he did. 

Maybe, you were more different from him than he had initially thought. Maybe it was never meant to be. 

He clicks his tongue at himself. Meant to be? He hardly even knew you. 

"Steve, you fucking meatball," he groaned at himself, rubbing his face and gaining strange looks from others. "I hate my life," he moaned. 

He peeks through his fingers to find Marie still smiling at him as if she had nothing else to do. 

"Don't look at me like that," he pointed at her. "Yeah, I screwed up. I know I'm stupid. Don't rub it in my face." 

"Are you okay?" He turned to find an old lady giving him a judging smile. 

"Yeah," he chuckles sheepishly. "I-uh. I have to go. Sorry about that," he dashed. 

He groans with a sigh. What was ot with women and torturing him? Inanimate or animate. They just _ loved _ to hate him. 

His shoulders drooped as he walked. He kept his eyes strictly on the ground to mask his embarrassment. So mortified by his own stupidity, he didn't dare to look anywhere but at the ground. A rather foolish thing to do when in public. 

Oddly enough, you walked down the same hall, tasked with yet another horrible project. With your nose stuck in a map, you walked without caution and right onto the wet floor. Your foot slipped and the next thing you knew, your arms were in the air and a small yelp escaped you. 

Steve caught you right before you fell. His big hands covered the small of your back with your arms wrapped around his neck. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks and so does his as he keeps you suspended in his arms. For a moment in time, the world stills and all that's left is you and him. 

His heartbeat was off its pacemaker, his breathing was heavy and deep as he looked into your eyes. They twinkled like the stars. His eyes traveled down towards plump red lips, parted slightly, inches away from his. 

_ dammit dammit dammit _

Just like him, you're caught in a daze. Lost in the ocean blue of his eyes. You never knew a pair of eyes could be this soft. And just like that day in the cafe you're trapped under him again. There was just something about his gaze that you'd never find in another person. Only in him. Even if you wanted to let go, you just couldn't find it in yourself to part from him. 

Not too far off, Madame Boucher gazes at the two with her mischievous smile, still hiding the secret message in the letter from her lover. 

_ In all the world, there isn't another like you, or me for that matter. We are two souls who feel like once upon a reality we were soulmates, eternal flames. _


	8. The Language of the Arts

_ This is awkward.  _

"So," you spoke up, eyes strictly focused on the painting in front of you, hating the silence standing in between. "Nice weather we're having." 

"Yeah," Steve said, his voice was stiff with a hint of nervousness. "Really cold." 

"You like winter?" 

"No, not really."

"I do," you said, folding your hands behind your back and tiptoeing up and down. "It's a great time to do cozy things, y'know? Like watching movies and drinking hot cocoa." 

"I guess it's nice if you think of it that way," he shrugged with a small smile. "I usually just think of how cold and dark it is." 

"I like that too, to be honest," you replied. "I don't know why, but I just do." 

"All the more reason to do cozy things I suppose?" he chuckled in your direction. 

You turn to him and smile. "Yeah, I guess so." 

His gaze lingers for a while before he snaps his head back towards the painting like he forgot he wasn't supposed to be staring. Your smile falters a bit <strike>and </strike> <strike> it's kind of annoying how different he's acting. You liked the obnoxious version of him more. </strike>

"So, uh," he clears his throat, "how ya been?" 

"Good," you nodded. "You?" 

He shrugged.  _ Miserable _ "I'm fine," he replied. "How's your boyfriend?" He asked, straining to sound nice. 

"Oh, he's fine," you said. 

It's awkward again and neither of you knows what to do. He just  _ had  _ to be there when you had to be there. In a city of over two million, the odds of meeting the same stranger more than once were less than likely and yet you've met this oaf far more times than you needed to. The universe was scheming something.

"Another art project?"

"Yeah," you chuckled. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't." 

"Your hatred for art is something I'll never understand," he shook his head. 

"People like different things. I don't like art, deal with it," you jabbed. 

Steve puts his hands up in defense. "I'm just saying. It's just, I don't know -- when I see something like this there's this bubbly feeling I get on the inside. And it just doesn't make sense to me that someone can't see it the way I do." 

"I know how you feel," you said. "But with science." 

Steve's shoulders drop. "But science is boring." 

"It is not!" You retorted then sighed. "I guess someone as simple-minded as you wouldn't get it," you shake your head. 

"Or maybe someone as close-minded as you wouldn't understand where I'm coming from," he snapped back playfully. 

"I am not close-minded!" 

"Yes, you are," Steve said. "You don't actually try to connect with the art. You're just trying to get an A. Maybe if you open your mind a bit and really let the art speak to you, you'll appreciate it more and even get a better grade." 

"Are you trying to tell me I'm stupid?" 

"Not in the least," he said with a chuckle coloring his words. "You're probably really smart, smarter than me. All I'm trying to say is that maybe you should try stepping out of your comfort zone? Try something you don't like or want to do. You never know you might  _ actually  _ like it." 

He gives you a charmingly crooked smile as he urges you to try it. You pry away from his gaze with a huff. He hit the mark when he said you needed to get out of your comfort zone, but he didn't need to call you out on it. 

"Fine," you replied with a groan, returning to the painting. He smiled gently before speaking. 

"[Pygmalion and Galatea](https://collectionapi.metmuseum.org/api/collection/v1/iiif/436483/1728751/main-image) by Jean Leon Gerome," he said. "I personally find this painting filled with passion for obvious reasons. The way he kisses her as she transforms into a human. His dreams come true at that moment. He's never felt more alive in his life." 

"Personally, I think he's a jerk. I know the story of Pygmalion and Galatea. I used to be really into mythology a while back," you told him. "Pygmalion was a self-imposed lonely sculptor. He didn't like mortal women because he thought they were flawed so he made a statue of what a perfect woman should be like. Aphrodite noticed how much he loved the statue so she brought her to life." 

Steve chuckled. "Then what do you think the painting's about?" 

"Male superiority." You stated, looking into the picture. "Look at how pure and delicate Galatea looks, isn't that every man's dream girl?" 

"I see where you're coming from," Steve chimed in. "Notice the sculptures in the back. One is of a woman with her child which could represent the role of a mother that's pressed upon them. The other is of a woman looking into a mirror and I think that symbolizes vanity. How women only really need to worry about their appearance and how it should please men. It's how society wants us to be or at least in a man's eye."

"Then there's Pygmalion, muscular and thriving in his own creativity and imagination. The ideal for any man at the time," you put your hands on your hips. You know the more we keep talking about this, the more I'm starting to hate it." 

"Nothing wrong with that," Steve shrugged. "I thought that was rather impressive - _coming from you that is_." 

You growl under your breath and push him off balance. He chuckles, only making you cross your arms annoyed. 

"I actually see it differently," Steve said. 

You raise a brow and turn to him. "How so?" 

"It's like the roles have been switched. Pygmalion's reaching up to Galatea since she's up on a pedestal. While she has to crouch down for his affection. Although we can't ignore the fact that she is his creation, we know she possesses all of his love because he's invested every part of him into her. His heart, soul, and mind, it all belongs to her. She possesses his idolization and can make him do whatever she wants," he said. 

You bring a hand to your cheek. "That makes sense. I like that interpretation more." 

"It makes you feel pity for Pygmalion almost. He's blind and naive in his devotion to her. If that was the painter's intent, I think he did a good job by adding the theatrical masks in the corner." You pointed. "Cause it isn't reality. The emotions when you're on stage are only skin deep. Even if Galatea may show love and affection towards Pygmalion, it's not real and it never will be. Whatever emotions she holds will always be artificial. But the way he kisses and holds her shows that he believes Galatea's love is sincere, and it makes you pity the guy. Everyone has a weakness and his is the desire to love." 

"I feel exposed," Steve mumbled. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," he said. "I'm honestly amazed by your analysis." 

You snorted. "I'm smarter than you, remember?" You teased and he rolled his eyes. "And thanks to you I don't have to bang my head against the wall for the next three hours. Thanks, I guess you were right. I ended up liking it," you said with a sheepish smile. 

"I'm glad I could help." 

Your eyes lock with his and you really look at them. Like it's the first time you've seen him. You noticed the way his eyebrows raised a centimeter or two, lined between confusion and wonderment, his eyes twinkled in amusement as if he knew something you didn't. They were like the ocean, so full of life yet so uncertain. The blue-green hue residing within pulling you deeper into the currents. 

Staring isn't exactly the word Steve would use. Your eyes rest, not unblinking but slowed; the effect is soft and inviting instead of harsh. Perhaps it's your lips that give away the intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they do. 

As if you're telling him to stay a little longer. It's unspoken, but sometimes words aren't needed. And he'd stay if you wanted him to, let you pull him deeper into the vast expanse of your eyes, glazed like honey and warmer than a summer breeze. 

He snapped out of his thoughts. There he goes again. Your lips part to say something, but Steve says something first. 

"I should go," he said. 

"Oh," you said in disappointment. "Thanks for helping," you give him a smile. "See ya around then?" 

"Yeah, just be careful next time?" 

"I'll make sure to," you chuckled. "Have a nice day."

He turned on his heel and waved goodbye. You smiled at him and waved back. The minute he turns away from you completely, the smiles on both of your faces fall instantly and it's like you've lost something you never had. 

_ "Sweetheart, I ain't a bad guy. I'll be nothing but good to you."  _

His smooth voice whistled in your ears. Another groan escaped your lips and you slammed your head against the cool metal surface of the kitchen table. 

Usually, the kitchen at Urban Remedy was a chaotic mess. Complete with shouting chefs and frolicking waitresses, sizzling pans and the clatter of dishes. But as the day began to wind down, so did business allowing its workers to catch a break. 

"I know this isn't the best place to work, but-" your head shot up at the sound of your boss' sassy voice. 

"Oh no," you replied sheepishly. "I was just-" 

"I'm just joking," May chuckled. She leaned over the table. "What's wrong sister? Someone didn't tip you well enough?" 

"No, it's not that," you chuckled while sitting straight up. "Just life I guess." 

"Lemme guess it's a guy," she laid it on the table. Your cheeks heated. 

"Dost mine ears deceive me?" Wanda popped her head in through the door. "Our residential man-hater has a guy problem?" 

"Where did you come from?" 

"I have super hearing," the girl said, taking a seat next to you. She shakes your arm in excitement. "Now spill." 

"First off, it's not a guy," you lied. "I'm just in a bind is all." 

"Sweetheart," May said, "you're not fooling anyone." 

"It's not!" You insisted. 

They replied with doubtful looks and a roll of the eyes. 

"It's that cute guy that comes to visit sometimes, right?" Wanda asked. "The one with the old man name?" 

You snorted. "No, Quentin is Quentin. He's not a guy." 

"So there is a guy, but he's not your friend," May conjectured. 

You exhaled deeply, feeling annoyed by them and yourself. 

"Okay, there's a guy," you grumbled. 

Wanda bounced in her chair while clapping her hands. "I knew it! Is he cute?" 

"I don't know!" you retorted. Your eyes flit towards May and she's smiling, pulling all the juicy details out of you. "Okay, maybe a little," you mumbled and they giggled like children "But I don't like him or anything!" 

"He wouldn't be a problem if you didn't," May smirked, resting her chin in her hand. 

"It's not like that," you look away with a sigh. "You ever just want to stay away from something but end up getting closer? Like you want nothing to do with them but they pull you in regardless?" 

"Me with cats," Wanda said. You turn to her puzzled. "What? I'm allergic to cats, but they're so cute." 

"Seems like you're in quite the predicament," May chuckled. 

"You know a way out?" 

"Nope," she deadpanned, "but you better get yourself  _ out  _ there cause I just heard the door open." She pointed behind her with a chuckle. 

You stand with a groan and make your way to the front. 

"Hey," Wanda called you back, "I think you should just follow your heart." You rolled your eyes.  _ If that isn't the stupidest thing _ -"I know what you're thinking but try it out? I mean it might be uncomfy at first but it could be worth it?" 

You shoot her a smile and a nod. "I'll try," you said pushing past the door and into the hall, to find a boy standing by the counter with his back to you. 

"Welcome in, how can I help you?" you asked as you approached him. 

The boy turned and you could've sworn you've seen him before. And by the way he looks at you, mouth agape and eyes wide, you probably did. 

It's like Peter's memory has been swiped clean and he doesn't even know what language is anymore as he stands in front of you.

"Uhm?" You asked, totally not judging him. 

"Oh Pete," May said from behind you. "You're here!" 


	9. We Meet Again My Dearest Mobster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro, this was proofread by weak eyes so take it as it is :)

“You guys know each other?” May asked with a smile. 

“Nope,” Peter quickly replied. “I’ve never met her in my life.” 

You looked at him. Yup, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere. May’s phone goes off and she reaches into her pocket to check. 

“Oh, it’s the supplier,” she said aloud. She looked over to Peter with a frown. “Mind if I take this, it’s really important.” 

Peter shook his head with a sweet smile. “It’s okay, I can wait.” 

“You’re the sweetest,” she said with a chuckle, ruffling his hair as she walked by. 

You waited until May closed the door to her office behind her to speak. 

“Alright, punk, who are you?” you questioned. “I know we’ve met before?” 

“What? Honest, Miss!” he said. “I don’t even know you!”

“Cut the crap and play straight with me,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms. 

“Now I understand why the boss likes you so much,” he chuckled. 

You dropped the spoon in your hand. "Wait what?" 

Peter cupped his mouth. "N-nothing!" Peter exclaimed. "I said nothing!" 

"No, no, no," you hurried towards him. "You just said something. Say it again." 

"I just remembered I have to go somewhere. Bye, Aunt May!" He took a dash for the door, but you caught him by the collar of his shirt. 

"Not so fast, pipsqueak," you said, yanking him towards you. "Who the hell is your boss and how does he know me?" 

"Well, uh - um - you see," Peter stuttered, not knowing what was worse. Outing his boss or your wrath. 

"Spit it out already!" You exclaimed, pulling him closer. 

"His name is Steve! Steve Rogers!" Peter confessed. "The King of Brooklyn!" 

Your grip on his collar loosens at the blonde's name. "Steve?" You said in shock. 

"Yeah," Peter fixed his collar with a sigh. 

"The freak from the museum's gotta crush on me?" you murmured to yourself in disbelief.

"I think it's time I go," Peter slipped by you. 

"Not so fast," you said flatly and he froze in his steps. "You've got a lot of explaining to do." 

“Let me wallow in my misery, Nat,” Steve groaned from his office chair. 

Nat rolled her eyes at the sight of him. He was leaned back in his seat with a book on his face. 

“Listen here, Romeo, enough’s enough,” Nat crossed her arms. “I’m sick and tired of you acting like this.” 

“It’s a free country,” he replied from underneath his book. 

“Free country my ass,” Bucky deadpanned. “We’re worried about you man,” he said. “You’ve been acting weird for the past two weeks.” 

“Listen, I’m fine,” Steve stated, “And what the hell are you three doing here anyway? Don’t you have work to do?” 

“Don’t change the topic,” Sam warned, leaning toward him on the desk. “You gotta talk to us, man, ‘cause you’re messing up everything.” 

“You gonna tell me how to do my job, Sammy?” Steve sits up, making his book fall onto the floor. His tone quickly shifting from tired to serious. “Cause I’d really love some pointers.” 

“Maybe I’ll have to cause you’re acting like a dumbass!” Sam said. “What made you think nuking the Gambino brothers was a good idea? Are you trying to start a war here?” 

“They lied to my face,” Steve snapped back. “You saw it with your own eyes. They’re working with Hydra behind my back.” 

“You know they got a brother out in Chicago,” Bucky reminded. “You think he’s just gonna let you do that?” 

“You think I’m afraid of some punk from puny Chicago?” Steve retorted, standing up with blood rushing to his head. “I’m the fucking mob king and I do what I want. I’m sending a message. Anyone who even  _ thinks _ to go against me is gonna regret it. I’m maintaining the order. ” 

“By creating more chaos?” Sam asked. Steve’s eyes cut to him sharply, but it’d take more than that to scare Sam off. “This wasn’t the way to do it, Steve, and you know it.” 

Steve’s lips pursed into a scowl. He was stubborn to admit it. 

“Stevie,” Nat called him, “You sure this isn’t about something else?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You sure this isn’t about the girl?” 

Steve’s heart dropped. “No,” he stated, if they really listened they could hear his voice shake. 

“Yeah?” Bucky said, disbelief written in his eyes. 

“Y-yeah,” he affirmed. The three look at him with blank expressions. "It isn't okay?" he stated firmly. "So quit bringing her up in every damn conversation," he brushes past Sam and Bucky and walks towards the door.

"Steve, don't you think you're just repeating the same steps you did with Peggy?" Nat said boldly. 

Bucky and Sam look at her, scared out of their minds. Steve freezes at the door, his grip on the metal knob was tight. He turns towards them with sharp, icy eyes. 

_ Red Alert. Red Alert.  _

"Why can't you just let us help?" She asked. "You'll end up hurting yourself more. Just like you did with-"

"Don't say her name," he interjected, his tone dipped in venom. "And I can handle things on my own. I don't need anyone's help." He said. 

With that, he opens the door and leaves with a loud slam. The three winced at the sound of the door then slump in their defeat. 

"He's gonna make it worse," Sam prophesied, "and he's gonna drag us with him." 

"Till death do us part, y'know?" Bucky chuckled sadly. 

"Bro, don't say it like that," Sam snarled. 

"Can you two shut up for once?" Nat hissed. 

"What's with you?" Bucky asked, placing his hands on his hips. 

"Shut up, I'm thinking," she snapped at him. 

"Oh great," Bucky huffed. "Steve's being an ass and now you're thinking." Nat shoots a glare his way. "What's becoming of this world?" He cried. 

She elbows him hard in the gut and he bends over with a whimper. 

"What are you thinking, Nat?" Sam asked nicely but cautiously. 

"Thinking how we can help, Steve." 

"He just said he didn't want help," Bucky wheezed. 

Nat clicked her tongue. "You know how stubborn he is! He won't ask for help because he's too damn proud of himself!" 

"So what do you have in mind, Romanoff?" Sam asked with a smirk, leaning against Steve's desk. 

"We find the girl and talk to her," Nat said. 

"Yeah, and how do we do that?" Sam questioned. "I mean, what would we even say?" 

“Hold on, I haven’t thought that far yet,” she grumbled. Her lips pursed into a pout and she furrowed her brows in rumination.  _ C’mon Nat, think, think.  _

And like a blessing in disguise, her answer comes through the door in the form of a ruffled brunette.

“You guys won’t believe who I just met!” Peter beamed. 

_ A few moments ago… _

“You know he really likes you,” said Peter, sitting across from you in the empty restaurant. He took another bite of his banana bread. “Like a lot,” he said with his mouth stuffed with bread. 

“Yeah?” you said nonchalantly, propping your chin upon your hand. 

Although your exterior was calm and collected, your insides were going wild. Yeah, you knew he had some sort of interest in you. But you always thought he just wanted to get in your pants. Isn’t that what all guys like him wanted to do? You weren’t so sure anymore.

“Yeah,” he took a sip of his milk, “when he found out about your boyfriend he was totally bummed out.” Your stone face crumbled and you frowned. Oh, this is bad. 

_ How ya been?  _

_ Good.  _

He lied. 

“Well, that’s his fault, not mine,” you pointed out in denial. 

“It is,” Peter agreed, “but I kinda feel bad for the guy.” You raised a brow. “I heard he got his heart broken before. Like torn into shreds. I don’t know much about it cause I’m still new.” 

Something deep in that little grinch heart of yours stung badly. Why you felt bad, you didn’t know, but you did. Sure, he came off a bit hard, but he was a nice guy overall. Minus the whole mob thing, that is. 

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you sympathized, awkwardly shifting in your seat. 

Peter’s phone lit up on the table and he looks over to see who it is. He picked it up and replied quickly. He shoved the rest of his bread in his mouth and you looked at him slightly disgusted. 

“Sorry, I gotta go pick up my girlfriend from her yoga class,” he said, slipping his phone in his pocket and getting up. 

“No problem,” you stood up with a smile, “thanks for answering my questions and sorry about being so — _ uh _ rough.” 

Peter chortled in reply. “Nah, it’s fine. Y’know you’d make a great mobster the way you hold yourself. You interested in a job? The pay’s real nice.” 

“No,” you smiled sheepishly, “I’m fine.” 

Peter shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he walked over to the door before turning again. “Oh, can you tell Aunt May I had to leave?”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied, following him. 

Peter waved before opening the door, letting in a gust of cold winter air. You wrap your arms around you while standing, trying to figure out what to say. 

“Uh, Peter,” you called after him, making him turn back. You sighed, hot breath vaporizing in the cold air. “Tell your boss I said hi,” you said with a sweet smile. 

He nodded with a grin. “Sure thing!” 

The place was packed to the corners. 

Steve looked around at the busy tables. An old couple eating side by side studiously bent over their meals. A group of women around their thirties collapsing in fits of laughter over old memories while a lonely woman not too far off looked on with a frown. A family with exasperated teenagers and businessmen negotiating over a glass of wine and steak. It's like the colors of the rainbow and Steve can't help but hate being squished in the middle of it all. 

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked pointedly. 

Nat smirks. "Peter recommended this place to me so I thought we could check it out," she told him. 

"But why me specifically?" Steve questioned. "Why not Sam or that one chick you're always fighting with?" 

"Because," Nat said with an exaggerated sigh, "I felt like it. Besides we have to talk." 

"I already told you I'm not-" 

"Shut your face, it's not about the girl. It's about Lucky." 

Steve grumbles and glares. "You know I'm the boss right?" He warns.

Natasha laughs from her stomach. "Stevie, you know better than anyone," she said, shifting her weight onto one hand. "I work under no man. I'm here because I want to be." 

"Sure it's not because of Bucky?" He snickered making her groan. 

Nat kicked him hard in the shin and he yelps in pain. He leans down and rubs his leg. "You jerk." 

"I'll kill you, Steve," she hissed through gritted teeth. 

"I'd like to see you try," he said before taking a sip of his soda as the waitress sauntered down the aisle. 

"Hi, my name is Y/N, I'll be your waitress for today," you greeted. Steve's drink almost goes through his nose at the sound of your voice. He coughed and patted his chest while Nat smirked at him. 

_ Why Why Why Why _

He's afraid to look up cause he knows you're going to be there and in all honesty, he didn't want to see you right now. 

"You okay, Stevie?" Nat asked with an amused grin. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he wheezed, shooting her an evil glare. He looks up to see you giving him a sweet lopsided smile paired with a small chuckle from his reaction. 

"Hey, dude, how's it been?" 

There's an indescribable warmth behind that smile. As if you're happy to see him again. It could be skin deep but he refused to see it that way. He'd stay blind if you kept on looking at him like that. He'd be Pygmalion as long as you were his Galatea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ho ho ho Nat you scheming binch...whatsa gonna happen now?  
i feel like I end in too many cliff hangers, must stop doing that.


	10. My Shining Knight in a Tom Ford Three-Piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried my best to proofread this :) hope you like it.

"I'm doing good," he chuckled awkwardly. 

"Is this your friend, Stevie?" Nat asked innocently. Like she doesn't know a thing about the world. 

_ Stevie. _

"We've met a few times," you told her, slightly affected by the nickname. "Here and there." 

"Oh, cause he's never really told me about you," she said. 

"Nat," Steve warned. She turned to him with a wicked grin. "How about we order?" He suggested through gritted teeth and opened the menu. 

"Good idea," she followed. 

The two gave you their orders and you scribbled them down on your little notepad while shooting a few glances in the blonde's direction. 

He kept his nose in the menu as if he was hiding from you and when you take them back he quickly pulls out his phone. 

You walk away with a smile and a very bad case of confusion. Steve waited until he saw you turn the corner to speak. 

"Alright, what're you up to?" Steve questioned. 

"Me?" Nat asked, confused. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Don't play stupid," Steve jabbed. "You can't fool me." 

"How was I supposed to know your girlfriend worked here?"

"Don't call her that!" Steve whisper-shouted, looking around to make sure you weren't around. 

"I thought you said you were over her?" Nat mused. 

"I am," Steve sat straight, with a firm look. "Just don't say weird stuff like that. Someone might hear."

"Oh look there's your girlfriend right there," Nat pointed. 

Steve huffed in defeat as he took a quick glance. You were walking down an aisle with an empty tray in hand and a high ponytail bouncing behind you with free strands shaping your face. You looked cute,  _ very cute _ . Steve's quick glance turned into a lingering gaze and a small smile making Nat chuckle in amusement. 

"Excuse me, Miss?" A young man called you with a pointed finger. 

You turned back to him. "Yes?" 

"I'd like to make an extra order." 

"Sure," you pulled out your notebook. "For?" 

"That ass" he grinned and his friends roared in vulgar laughter.

You rolled your eyes annoyed while turning on your heel to walk away, your hair whipping behind you. 

"Hey baby," he drawled and caught your wrist. "I didn't say you could leave," he shook his head, smiling wide for you to see his tacky gold tooth. 

"Let go of my hand," you hissed, trying to pry from his grasp. 

"C'mon I ain't causing no trouble, right guys?" 

"Yeah, baby, why don't you sit with us?" One of his friends asked. "We'll show you some fun." 

Steve's jaw clenched at what he was witnessing. His eyes narrowed onto the man, onto the way his hand was wrapped around your gentle wrist. Burning rage hissed through his body like deathly poison, screeching a demanding release in the form of unwanted violence. He stood up abruptly, banging the table as he walked towards them. 

Nat raised a brow at him. "Steve, where are you going?" She turned in her chair to see him stalk towards you. "Steve?" 

"I said let go of me," you stated coldly, but it wasn't enough to mask the fear racking inside. 

"No can do, princess," he shook his head, bringing you closer. His eyes avert from yours to see Steve steaming towards them. 

You turn to see what he's looking at, but it's only for a split second. In a matter of seconds, the man's grip on your hand loosens as Steve yanks him up by the collar and slams his fist right into his jaw. 

Heads turned and raised at the sound. Everyone stopped doing what they were doing to see what was happening. 

"Who the fuck do you think you are touching her like that?" Steve hollered, pulling him back up by the collar. 

You caught him by the arm. "Steve, it's fine." You were more afraid of what he'd do to the man. "Just calm down. Let him go," you asked slowly, tugging on his arm gently. 

"No," he snarled. "Guys like him deserve to get beat. I oughta punch his teeth out for touching you like that," he growled. 

"Yeah?" The guy chuckled in pain, blood trailing down the side of his lip. "Acting like a saint, are we, mob king? I heard what you did to the Gambinos." Steve's jaw ticked. "Don't act so righteous when you're not." 

Steve pumped his fist back to punch him again until Nat interfered. 

"Are you out of your damn mind?" She hissed. 

"Do you hear what the hell he's saying?" He snapped at her. 

"There are women and children here," she warned. 

"That never stopped him before," the guy guffawed. 

"Shut the fuck up you piece of shit," Steve punched him in the nose and he fell backward onto an empty table. Nat slapped her forehead. 

"What the hell are you doing in my restaurant?" May shouted as she stormed down. 

"Steve, you have to leave," you ordered. 

"What?" He asked incredulously. He just saved you from a scumbag and you're telling him to leave?! Shouldn't he deserve something better? Like a kiss or a hug. Hell, he'd even take a smile.

"I said leave," you stated. "Now." 

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Nat beat him to it. 

"C'mon, we're going," she pulled him by the arm. 

"But-," 

"No buts. Now move it, Mister," she led him like a mother. Steve looked at you as he passed by, but you looked away. 

He grumbled.  _ Why must I ruin everything? _

"I'll call you for the damages," May hollered at Nat. 

Nat waved her hand at her as everyone looked on in confusion. What the hell just happened?

"All I wanted was a nice lunch date," Nat nagged. "But you just had to go and ruin everything." 

"Sorry," he mumbled as she unlocked the car. He reaches to open the door but she stops him. 

"No, you're staying here," Nat stated. "And you're going to talk to her." 

"What?" Steve asked puzzled. "No, never. I'll die first." 

"You're a damn coward." 

"Why are you leaving me here?" Steve complained. 

"Because you need to apologize," Nat replied, getting into the car. 

"This is bullshit," he groaned. 

"Watch your fuckin language," Nat warned. "And don't you dare go home without doing it." 

"Why are you doing this to me?" Steve whined. 

"Trust me when I say it's for your own good."

With that, Nat drives away, leaving a sullen Steve in the dust. Her phone dings and she checks what it is.

A message from a hired henchmen. 

_ I'm taking extra for that punch.  _

"Y/N," Wanda cooed, face pressed against the large window of the now empty restaurant. Her hot breath steaming onto the window. 

"Yeah?" You asked while sweeping the floor, thoughts elsewhere.

"He's still there," she said with a giggle watching Steve leaning against someone's car. His back facing them. 

"And what am I supposed to do about that?" You countered coldly. "I didn't tell him to stay." 

"Oh come on!" Wanda yelled. She turned around and placed her hands on her hips, eyeing you down dangerously. "You can't be this heartless!" 

"I am not heartless," you retorted. "All he ever does is make a mess out of everything." 

"He saved you!" Wanda exclaimed, ready to rip her hair out. 

"I never asked him to," you shrugged with a grumble. "I can take care of myself." 

Wanda groaned exasperatedly while sinking into a chair. "I just can't with you," she exhaled deeply. You rolled your eyes but kept on working as she should have been. 

"Hey, Y/N," May called from the register. 

"Yeah?" You turned to see her motioning you to come to her. You obeyed and reached over the counter with the broomstick still in your hand. 

She gives you a warm motherly smile while leaning over the counter. 

"Now, listen to me and listen to me well," she said with a smile. "A guy like that" she points towards the window, "is hard to find. Not every guy's gonna defend your honor, only the special ones do. So listen to your sweet old boss and don't mess this up? Go out there and say thank you." 

You swallowed what she said with a bright blush. 

"Cause I know you like him." You opened your mouth to retort and she chuckled. "You can come up with any kind of excuse you want, but you can't hide what's in here," she pointed to your heart with her pen. "Why don't you give your heart a break and just give in? I mean what's to lose right?" 

You nodded mindlessly, heat rushing to your head. 

"Well?" She asked with a chortle. "What are you doing here? Hurry up and get out there before he freezes to death!" 

"But I still have to-" 

"Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it," Wanda assured, shoving your things into your arms. "Now go, go, go," she urged, excitedly. 

"Okay, okay," you hissed and they chuckled at the way you pouted in embarrassment. You put on your coat and slung your bag over your shoulder. You walked over to the door and were about to leave when Wanda called you back. 

"Here," she threw a small bag of cookies into your face, "say it's on the house. Good luck!" 

"Uh-thanks," you gave her a lopsided smile. 

You walked out into the nightly winter air. You see him standing across the street, back to you, leaning against a midnight black car with a thin trail of smoke dancing in the air. 

Your heart is soaring, livelier than it's ever been before, and it feels strange. Heavy but light, scared but wanting. 

_ Alright, Y/N, there's nothing to worry about it's just Stupid Steve.  _

You turn back to find May and Wanda both pressed against the window to see the drama.  _ Way to be subtle.  _

They gave you big thumbs up and smiles; you can't help but chuckle at them. 

"Okay," you whispered to yourself. You rubbed your hands together and slapped your numb cheeks. "I got this," you affirmed. 

You crossed the street and stepped onto the curb. Steve turned his head to see you and stood up straight. He drops the cigarette in his hand to the ground and crushes it under his shoe. 

"H-hey," you stuttered.  _ I thought you said you had this! _

"H-hi!" He replied, quickly.

"Uh- _ um- _ I-uh," you lost the words. Then it came to you. "Here!" You threw- _ chucked _ the bag of cookies and he caught them. "Uh those are for you! They're not from me, so don't get any ideas," you stated flatly. 

_ There's that irresistible charm _ . 

He smiles wide, the smell of freshly baked cookies making the moment all the sweeter. "Thanks," he replied. 

You crossed your arms with a pout and walked by him. You turned back from the waist up, using every bit of power in you to not to smile at him. "The bus stop is a block away and you're gonna come with me. You're my bodyguard for the next ten minutes cause you've got a good arm." 

Steve chuckled. "That's fine by me," he grinned, catching up to you with wide footsteps. He pockets the bag of cookies in his coat as a snack for later and tucks his hands inside his suit pants. 

The night whispered sweet nothings, luring the heat packed under layers of clothing out. It was a cold, moonless night. The sky was dark and low with a rolling blanket of ash grey. 

The cold came like the spell of an enchantress. Earth to iron. Water to stone. Green grass to frosted white. There was no hint of warmth left, the autumn, or a kiss of the vanquished sun. 

Every step becomes a prayer to home, streaking the chilly silence settled into the streets of Brooklyn. As the cold air nipped at your cheeks, your thoughts scattered in a frenzy of what to say and what not to say. 

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that you weren't good at these kinds of things. You failed at it. Failed so bad that the gods of love would cry on your behalf. 

"So…" you spoke up. "That girl." 

"Hmm?" 

"The redhead," you elaborated. "She your girlfriend or something?"

"Nat?" Steve asked. "Oh no, she's just a friend. One of the guys, y'know?"

"Oh, I see," you replied, a strange sense of relief settling inside. 

"Why? You jealous?" he smirks. 

You snorted. "As if," you stick your nose in the air. He chuckles in reply, making you smile. 

"I'd like to say thank you," you said, your breaths turning into puffy white clouds. "For what you did back there." 

"Oh," he blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was nothing." 

"No, really, no one's ever really stuck up for me like that," you said playing with your hands. "Well, maybe just Quentin." 

"I mean he's your boyfriend," he said, sounding close to a snarl. He looked away with a disgruntled frown. 

The stinging thorns of a white lie pricked into your skin. 

"Quentin isn't my boyfriend," you confessed and he whipped his head towards you. You bite your lip in embarrassment and keep your eyes on the path. "He only said that so you'd leave me alone." 

"But why?" Steve asked, completely lost. 

"Are you kidding me right now?" You asked, stopping to look at him. "You're kinda clingy. Not even kinda, you  **are** clingy." 

Steve tried to retort, but it only came out like a garbled mess of words. “But lying is bad,” he stated with a triumphant smirk. 

“Wouldn’t you lie if a guy you met once followed you around?” you countered. Steve’s jaw went slack and he didn’t have a reply. 

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” he mumbled. 

“I  _ am  _ right,” you said with a sigh. 

“You are right,” he echoed sadly. “I’m sorry. I guess I came off a bit too hard?” 

“Just a tad bit,” you said with an amused grin. “But it’s okay, I forgive you.” 

He beams in the dark of the night. “Yeah? Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?” 

"No,” you deadpanned, resuming your trek. 

“Right, sorry,” he replied, following behind. “How about a very platonic coffee break?” 

You groaned in exasperation. “I just don’t get you,” you placed your hands on your hips. “Why do you like me so much?” 

“That’s a really weird question to ask someone,” Steve laughed. 

“Well, it’s my question,” you retorted. “I mean what do you find in me that you can’t find anyone else? I’m not special or beautiful. No one’s ever liked me before, so why do you?”

Steve stood still, the playful grin splayed on his face slowly fading. You searched his eyes for an answer. They say the eyes are a gateway to the soul, yet when you look into his they’re clouded with mystery. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I just do. I just like being around you. You’re funny and smart. But I guess that’s not a good enough reason.” 

Suddenly, you don’t feel very cold anymore with heated blood rushing through your veins. His chest rose and fell with even breaths, his slightly chapped lips curved into a half-smile. He takes a step closer and into your space, but this time you don’t mind. 

“But sometimes you don’t  _ need _ an answer. I certainly don’t need one.” 

When he looked at you it’s as if every ounce of breath was taken from your lungs, floating into the air like midnight smoke. You bite your lip, your breathing becomes softer, the pensive look melting into a smile as soft as the morning light. You squirm just a little as your muscles relax. There’s something about his gaze as if at that moment your souls have made a bridge. 

You chuckled lightly. “You are crazy.” 

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” he chuckled along. 

Heads turned at the sound of the bus zipping down the street and you gaped at it. 

“That’s my bus!” you yelled, running after it. Steve followed behind. You barely made it to the door and quickly got in, heaving deep breaths as you climbed up the steps. You turned around towards Steve. He waved goodbye with a soft smile. You took a step down and leaned out of the bus to give him a kiss on the cheek, setting a sweet fire in his soul. 

“Don’t be a stranger, ya hear?” you flashed him a smile.

“You know I won’t,” he grinned wide. 

You got in and the doors closed. He stood for what felt like an eternity, relishing in the sweet aftermath of a simple kiss, feeling hopeful for the future. 

“Yes,” he pumped his fist towards him. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” he exclaimed while doing a victory dance.

You watched him from the window of the bus and giggled. He was such an idiot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it seems like things are turning up for both of them :D


	11. Like Peanut Butter and Jelly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a small filler chapter

"So you're a mobster now?" Quentin interrogated like a cop. A very judgemental and somewhat betrayed cop. 

You look up from your book. "No, where did you get something stupid like that from?"

"You just said you're friends with that jerk!" He spat for the whole library to hear. 

"Would you stop shouting we're in a library," you hissed. 

"He's a fucking criminal," Quentin jeered. 

"Listen he isn't so bad," you explained. You weren't defending him. You were just being honest. "He's kinda nice. He beat the crap out of this guy for me." 

"Now you're making him kill for you?" He asked incredulously, "God, what's wrong with you?" 

You rolled your eyes in aggravation. "I'm not doing anything like that!" You snapped. "He just so happened to be at work and helped me." 

"Uh-huh, yeah," the brunette scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping in his chair. "Ever thought he might've put that guy there to do that to you?" 

"What are you talking about?" you squinted at him, leaning towards him and against the table, slightly peeved by his attitude. 

"What if it was all planned?" Quentin suggested. "What if he did it so he could make you like him?" 

You shook your head in denial. "He wouldn't do something like that. He's not that kinda guy." _Okay, why am I sticking up for this guy? _

"Oh and you know a lot about him for some reason," he taunted whilst shaking his hands back and forth. 

You grumbled audibly, slamming your book shut. "If you're gonna be an asshole Quentin, I'll just leave." 

His hands drop and so do his shoulders. The curve of his lips runs crooked and you can tell he feels sorry. It wasn't so hard to read him. He knew you inside and out, and you knew him outside and in. 

"Sorry, I'm not trying to be," he sighed regretfully. "I'm just worried about you. This guy's bad news, Y/N," he warned. 

"He's in the damn mob. Hell, he is the mob. He runs the entire New York crime syndicate for crying out loud!" He shakes his arms animatedly. "Extortion, racketeering, drugs, all the worst things you could possibly imagine probably has something to do with him," he drops his arms and you could see he's doesn't like any of this. "I just don't want you to get stuck in that kinda life." 

You blush a tiny bit and sit back in your seat. You twirled a piece of hair around your finger, trying to avoid his eyes by looking at your book. "But he's never really talked to me about the mob stuff. Sometimes I think he doesn't even remember he's in the mob." 

"That could be for now. You don't know the future. What if he does a total 180 when he's got you in real deep?" He asked. 

"It's not like that." You replied. "We're just friends." 

"Just friends?" 

"Just friends," you stated firmly. "Besides weren't you the one who told me to make friends? To get out of my comfort zone?" 

"Yeah, but I didn't tell you to get all smoochy-smoochy with a criminal," he counters. 

"It was nothing like that!" you defended yourself. "You're such a jerk!" You crossed your arms and looked away with a pout. 

He chuckled, finding your reaction really cute. "You sure there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" He asked one last time. 

"No, there isn't," you shake your head, defiantly. 

"You crushing on this guy or something?" He dropped. 

A burning hue of red darkens your cheeks and your face tells more than words could ever say. 

"Oh my god, you are!" He groaned loudly, almost teasingly, slightly obnoxious. He slapped his forehead with his hand and wove his fingers into his hair. He shook his head in disappointment. "Where did I go wrong?"

"S-shut up!" You stammered. 

"She's in love with a mobster," he repeated to himself as if he didn't believe it the first time. 

"Shut your face before I do it for you." You leaned over the table, pushing it slightly towards him in an attempt to intimidate him. 

He points at you while laughing. "Look at you!" He roared, loud enough to earn them a few glares from everyone else. "You're blushing like crazy!" 

"N-no I'm not!" You refuted, cheeks burning brighter than ever. Why did you even tell him in the first place? Oh right, he's your best friend. Your very stupid friend who laughed at the dumbest things. You kicked him from underneath the table. He winces in pain but doesn't dare stop laughing. 

"Ow, you tryna kill me, mob woman?" He asked between fits of laughter. 

"I hate you." 

"Mrs. Y/N Rogers," he hums while thinking, "has a nice ring to it." 

A vein in your forehead snaps and the next thing Quentin knows, he's kissing a really heavy textbook, and wondering what his post-mortem was going to look like.

_ Quentin Beck. Male. 22. A whole idiot.  _

_ Cause of death: Bludgeoned to death with a Campbell Biology textbook. (She thick as fuck). _

"So I take it things went well?" Bucky asked with a smirk, sitting across Steve in his office. 

"Better than well." Steve beamed. "Amazing. Fantastic. Superb. Had the best damn time of life," he exclaimed. 

Sam rolled his eyes. "All she did was kiss you on the cheek," he deadpanned. 

"It's a step in the right direction," he stated positively. No bad vibes in his neighborhood. "This is monumental. We're really going somewhere. I could see it in her eyes. They were sparkling. I mean they always do but like more than usual." 

"Y'think she even wants anything to do with the mob?" Sam asked. 

"I don't know, but I sure as hell won't stop now," he countered. 

The days following his lovely talk with you by the bus stop only consisted of daydreams and giggles, scene by scene replays of his favorite parts. The way your eyes shined under a starless sky. The feel of your lips on his skin. The  **feel ** of  **your lips** on  **his skin** . 

Though it was short and quick, you kissed him. That had to mean something right? Something really good? There's a lot he still needs to know about you. But from what he did know, he knew you wouldn't just kiss any guy. You're a tough shell to crack and it might take time for him to chisel through the stony layers surrounding your heart, but he was getting somewhere. 

Steve wasn't complaining. He was excited and determined. If this is what it felt like with just a meager kiss, then how would it feel to hold your hand? To share those cozy moments you said you liked so much? To be the only one you'd share your warmest smiles and most passionate kisses with? 

The thought of that alone had Steve riled up like a shaken soda can. Fizzling inside and ready to burst the minute someone popped him open. God, if only you knew what you did to him. 

"She's a bit of a firecracker. I think she'd make a nice addition to the family." Sam smirked, knowing full well he was striking a chord in the man's heart. 

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle. Shaking his head lightly, he thinks about it just for a second. "Yeah, she's great." 

"Now to more serious matters," Bucky interjected, reminding them why they were in the first place. He pushes a file in front of him. Steve opens it to find a picture of a man along with some papers. "Guy by the name of Rumlow wants to talk to you." 

Steve raised a brow while looking through. "Who's he?" 

"They call him Bullseye. He never misses a shot. He's also a bigtime narcotics man," Sam replied, "Gotta big field all the way in Morocco." 

"Says he wants to expand the business," Bucky continued. "He's working with the Lucchese family, Helped him buy a warehouse and fronts to get set up." 

"We've already got guys like him," Steve dropped the folder back onto the desk. 

"Yeah, but this guy's different." Bucky pointed out. "This stuff that he's got is top of the market. And if we don't get in on this action it's gonna be a major loss." He stated. "Maybe not now or tomorrow but in the next ten years. I mean who knows?" 

Steve frowns slightly while scratching the side of his neck. "I don't know. I don't trust him," he said doubtfully."Sam?" 

Sam shrugs. "It's all on you big man." 

Steve huffs. "Fine, I wanna meeting with this guy," he gets up and pulls his jacket off his chair. "Sometime tomorrow. And before that, I want every piece of information you can get on him on my desk in the morning. Send Clint and Scott." 

Steve put his coat on and slipped his phone in his pocket. 

Bucky raised a brow. "Where ya going?" 

"Out," he replied curtly, heading for the door. He opens the door and they already know where he's going. Steve pops his head back in. "Oh and tell 'em to take the kid with 'em. I don't pay him to sit around all day," he reminded them. "Teach the kid some ropes and make sure he doesn't get shot in the head for saying something stupid, alright?" 

"He's a pain in the ass," Bucky deadpanned. 

"Never said he wasn't," Steve retorted. "But I don't need his auntie on my bad side. So do me a favor and deal with it," he stated firmly. 

"Easy for you to say," Sam jabbed. "You're not the one who's stuck listening to him yapping about Star Wars or some crap. Kid's a nerd," he grumbles. 

Steve chuckles while leaving. "Leave him alone. He's a good kid," he contended. "Anyways, I'm off." 

"Why are you here?" You deadpanned. 

"You don't seem very happy to see me," Steve said, sitting on one of the barstools lining the granite counter with a mischievous grin splayed on his face. 

"That's because I'm not," you said flatly, wiping down the counter. 

"Ouch, that hurt me right here," he winced while clutching his heart. 

"That was my intention," you remarked, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your face. 

Steve notices it. He obviously did. Nothing ever went past those pretty blue eyes. He leans over the counter with his arms crossed on top. 

"Doesn't seem like it," he teases. 

You click your tongue and push his face out of yours. He chuckles and you couldn't help but let go of a chuckle or two. 

"You're an idiot, Rogers," you remarked. 

Steve props the side of his face with his hand, watching the way you move around the place, frolicking from one spot to another. He watched you like you had the stars in your hands and hung them up in the sky. Even in a dull all-black uniform and hair twisted in a loose bun with a few strands running rampant, there's a glow to you that has him warm on the inside. Your face was bare, only marked with an acne scar here and there and dark circles underneath your eyes due to a lack of sleep and yet, he thinks you're the prettiest thing in the world. 

"What?" You asked puzzled and slightly embarrassed. 

"Nothing," he smiled, a tint of pink spreading on his cheeks. 

"Don't you have anything to do?" You asked. "Or is the mob all talk and no work?" 

"I finished early," Steve replied with a chuckle. "So I thought I'd meet my favorite waitress." 

"Oh, I'm so honored," you replied sarcastically earning a roll of the eyes from him. You leaned over the counter in front of him with a smirk. "And what have I done to earn a visit from the high and mighty kingpin?" 

"Stole my heart," he murmurs. 

"What?" You asked standing straight._ I didn't hear that. Let's pretend I didn't hear that. _

"N-nothing," he quickly replied. 

You shake it off as a trick of the mind. "Well if you're here we might as well do something," you dug your hand into your pocket. 

"Good idea!" He exclaimed. 

"Here," you slammed a stack of cards with a rubber band twisted a few times around. 

He furrowed his brows. "What the heck is this?" 

"My flashcards. You're gonna help me study," you stated calmly. 

Steve groans. "I thought we'd do something more heartfelt to get to know each other more." 

"There's the door if you wanna leave," you deadpanned. 

"Fine," Steve huffs. "Gimme that." He snatches the cards from you. 

Slipping off the rubber band, he flips through the cards and picks a random one. 

"Alright," he reads the flashcard. First, he squints then opens them wide in confusion. "I don't understand what this says. It's not even in English." 

"Lemme see that," you took it from him. 

"It says deoxyribonucleic acid." 

"What the fuck is that?" He questioned, his nose scrunched in disgust. 

"Its DNA, stupid head," you retorted, slightly annoyed. 

"Then why didn't you just write that?" 

"Cause I wanna practice spelling it, moron, and cut the sass before I end up kicking your ass to next Tuesday." 

Steve smiled, feeling a streak of mischief. "Damn, sweetheart, you sound so pretty when you talk like that. Keep going." He cooed. 

Your cheeks burn read. "D-don't say things like that! You're such a weirdo!" You stammered with an angry pout. 

"Oh, my heart!" He exclaimed while clutching his chest. "You're making me see stars!”

"Shut up, you idiot!" 

"Why don't you make me with those pretty lips of yours?" Unable to say anything you yank on his ear hard and he yelps. "Ouch, that hurts!" 

"Fucking good!" You shouted still pulling on him. 

Wanda watched from the small window of the kitchen with a smile. "They make a good match, don’t they?" She asked May. May chuckles while watching you pour out your rage on the poor mob man. 

"Like peanut butter and jelly." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for some reason in my head, i always connect these two idiots to megara and hercules from the disney movie. y/n's got that sassy attitude and stone heart while steve is the warmest puppy and the biggest dork. does anyone else see this comparison or is it just me??


	12. Best Excercise For The Heart? Getting Chased By The Mob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi ho, i tried to make not as many grammar mistakes. hope you enjoy it and don't forget to comment. :)

Peter's heart was beating on another plane of existence. 

His palms were sweaty and stomach just a bit queasy. He knew he shouldn't have had such a big breakfast, but it's not like May would let him leave the house without at least three pancakes shoved into his mouth.

Bucky greets Peter by slapping his hand over his shoulder making him jump in surprise. 

"Woah, chill out kid," Bucky said with a chuckle. 

"Sorry," he shook his head. "I'm just a little nervous." 

"I got ya," Bucky replied. "Listen there's nothing to it, you just gotta sit there. The boss is gonna do all the talking. He just wants us there for backup. Natasha can’t make it so you’re gonna take her spot." 

"But why does he want me there?" Peter asked curiously, "I'm still new and–" 

"The big guy thinks you've got a lot of potential," Bucky explained and Peter's eyes grow wide in shock. The mob king thought  _ he  _ had potential? He smiles in hiding, trying to not let it get to him. Too late. Head full. Pride skyrocketing. 

"Truth is, I don't see it," Bucky stated flatly, "but he's weird like that." 

"Thanks, you're so nice," Peter replied, mildly sarcastic, but Bucky lets it go just this once. He shakes him with another pat on the back. 

"Come on, get in," he pushes him into the office. 

Peter takes a seat next to Sam who gives him a friendly smirk. At least he thinks it's friendly. He really can't tell with those two. 

Steve enters the room and Peter sits straight up. The kingpin smiles warmly. “You brought the kid.” 

“You told us to,” Bucky replied. 

“Right,” Steve said as if he forgot. “How’s it goin’ kid? You and your girl doin’ alright?”

“Yes Sir!” he replied quickly.  _ Steve Rogers remembers that he has a girlfriend. Wow, what a nice guy. _

“Now listen here,” Sam brought him back to earth. “When the guy comes don’t get all bouncy. Just chill out and relax.” 

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. 

“And don’t go blabbing random stuff, ya hear?” Bucky reminded him. 

“I don’t do that!” he retorted. 

“Only talk when spoken too, but never answer if you don’t know what to say,” Sam instructed. “Never show someone else that you’re unsure. Always be confident even when you’re not.” 

“Talk but don’t talk,” Peter repeated. “Be confident even when you’re not. That doesn’t make any sense!”

“It makes perfect sense,” Bucky retorted. “You’re just stupid.” 

“No, I’m not!” 

“Don’t mess this up, kid or your ass is grass,” Sam warned, earning a loud, guttural groan from Peter.

Steve chuckled. “Listen, Pete, just go with your gut, ya hear? Just go with what you know, alright?”

“Yes, Sir!” He nodded like a child. 

A knock came at the door and opened. 

“Mr. Rogers,” the secretary popped her head through the door. “Mr. Rumlow is here.” 

“Let him in,” Steve waved towards him. She opens the door wider and Brock Rumlow enters. Peter observes him. A scar running across his left cheek with beady black eyes that just screamed sneaky. Not even a word and the boy already knew he couldn’t be trusted. 

"Mr. Rogers," Rumlow greeted, extending his hand. 

"Mr. Rumlow," Steve shook his hand, "Just call me Steve." 

"So the rumors are true, you're an easy man to talk to." 

"I just hate the formality and if we can," Steve stated, "let's finish this quick." 

"Of course, I know you're a busy man." Rumlow smiles, taking a seat in front of him. "What I'm here for. What I want from you is help," he said. "I need money, investment money. I need three million dollars in cash," he explained further. 

Peter's eyes widened. He spoke as if it was a small amount and Steve looked at him with utter nonchalance as if he's just asking for spare change. 

"And what else?" Steve question, hooking his leg over the other, tapping the ash off of his cigarette. 

"I need connections and you have very powerful friends," Rumlow continued. "I need those politicians you keep in your back pocket." 

"And what's in it for us?" 

"Forty percent," Rumlow stated. "And by the end of the year you'll be raking in around eight to ten million," he estimated. 

"And the Lucchese?" 

Rumlow chuckles. "I'll take care of them from my own share." 

Steve ponders on the information for a bit. His expression was hard to read, leaving the rest in the room waiting in anticipation of his decision. He sat relaxed in his chair, not slumped, but confident and nonchalant. 

"So, I get forty percent for finance, political influence, and legal protection?" He points out, extending his fingers as the list goes. 

"That's right." Rumlow nodded. 

"Why me though?" Steve questioned with a shake of the hand. "Why do I deserve all this generosity?" 

Rumlow scoffs. "If three to four million is a small price for you, kingpin, then cheers to you." 

Steve's eyes look at him sharply, then he smiles. To Peter, it's more dangerous than friendly. 

"I've heard you're a businessman," Steve reminded him, burning out his cigarette in an ashtray. "A serious man needed to be treated with respect." 

Rumlow's cocky smile falls and twists into a subtle scowl. 

"The thing is I've been looking into this new drug you're proposing. This is nasty stuff worse than any other drug on the market as of now," Steve criticized and Rumlow wasn't pleased.

"Now let's just say this stuff hits it big. Bigger than crack and weed, which it probably will," he stood up and paced the office. "Those crackheads will take anything that gets 'em off for a good ten minutes. But let's just say hypothetically, it gets stuck in the hands of a policeman or even worse—a kid, and he gets caught smoking or even worse dead with that crap. That causes a major issue for me," he points at himself while standing in front of Rumlow. 

Rumlow looks up at him and it's like he already knows the answer. 

"Yeah, I've got a lot of friends, but I don't think the mayor would be so friendly if he knew I was caught up in this stuff," Steve remarked. "That thing you got is nasty." 

"Mr. Rogers," he retorted firmly. 

"Listen, I don't care what a man does for a living," Steve cut him off. "I mean look at me. But your business is a bit dangerous." 

"If you're worried about your investment. The Lucchese will take care of it." Rumlow assured. 

Steve shakes his head with a laugh. The Lucchese were going to insure him? What was he some second rate gangster? 

"My answer is final, Mr. Rumlow. It's a no." Steve stated firmly. "Good luck with your business. I know you'll do very well and I wish you all the best. As best as your interests don't conflict with mine." He wished him with a warning in his tone. 

Rumlow stands up with a scornful smile. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers," he shook his hand. "I appreciate it." 

"No problem," Steve said, placing his hand over their hands and giving it a final good shake. "Buck, please see Mr. Rumlow to the door." 

"No, no," he replied. "That won't be necessary. I can find it myself," he nods and leaves the room. “Not like I found much help here anyway.” 

"Hey, Pete," Steve said, he points his head towards the door, "follow him out from a distance." 

Peter nodded, dashing for the door. 

"You think we did the right thing?" Bucky asked, leaning against the desk. 

"We can't risk our connections, Buck," Steve said, lighting another stick. "Besides, me? Insured by the Lucchese? Get the fuck outta here," Steve remarked, a chuckle coloring his words making the two erupt in laughter, filling the room with a lighter air. 

"You know you don't have to walk me to the bus stop anymore." You said, walking out of the restaurant. "It's only a block away." 

A sudden blow of wind rushes past, making you snuggle into the wool scarf wrapped around your neck. You dig your hands deeper into your pockets and look over at Steve to find him unphased by the freezing temperatures of January. Freak. 

"I take my job as your bodyguard very seriously." He replied. 

"You're not my bodyguard. I don't need a man to protect me." You retorted defiantly. 

"Woah there, Susan B. Anthony," Steve put his hands up in surrender, "I was just saying. Don't get all feminist on me." 

"And what's wrong with being feminist?" You jabbed. 

"Nothing. I love women. All of them. They're amazing. Absolutely wonderful," he complimented. "But not in a creepy way. More of a respectful and cool kinda way." 

"Just stop talking, you're making my head spin," you sighed, shaking your head. 

"You're so dramatic," he nudged you with his shoulder. 

"You're the dramatic one," you pointed out.

"Am not," he retorted. 

"Are you joking me right now?" You asked incredulously. "Oh heavens no, she doesn't speak the language of arts whatever shall I do?" You acted breathlessly desperate. Steve rolled his eyes and kept walking. 

"How can someone be so simpleminded? I guess I'll just die right here." You fainted against his shoulder with your hand on your forehead and a dramatic sigh. 

He pushes you off of him, secretly liking how open you're being with him. 

"Ha ha ha, you're hilarious," Steve deadpanned.

"Thanks, I know," you replied boastfully. He snorts, looking away so you wouldn't see him smiling. 

He failed. It was hard to miss that pretty smile of his. _ I didn't say that. It was a completely objective observation.  _

Even if you told him not to walk you to the bus stop, you had to admit you enjoyed his company. Your cold cheeks were brushed with a numbing red, but the rest of you was warm. You didn't say a word the rest of the way there, just listened and watched. 

You quietly listened to the distant drone of traffic, watched the lights of houses flip on and off. Cool steam rose from the sewer holes and swept along the asphalt of the street. There's not a soul in sight and what sane person would want to be out on a cold night like this? Your footsteps grew gradually slower not really in a hurry to get anywhere. Like they're trying to make the journey last as long as it can. 

You don't know why, but the air feels tense. Heavy with something you can't really find a name for, but something you knew all too well. You pull your sweaty hands out of your pockets, stretching them to get some air through the cracks. 

Steve watches his footsteps and how they're in sync with yours. He feels more at peace here with you than he's felt in the past week. You're like a remedy to all his problems. 

When he's with you, the pressures of the mob slowly fade away. The burden of working over a hundred men and maintaining his power disappears for just a moment of time. When he's with you, he's not the kingpin, he's just Steve. Just a normal guy. You've never really seen him as anything else and he hopes it'll stay like that forever. 

"That's strange," you said, checking your phone for the time while approaching the bus stop. "The bus is usually here by now." 

"Maybe it's just a few minutes late?" 

"Maybe." 

The two of you waited for the bus patiently. Ten minutes had passed and the bus was nowhere to be seen. You looked from side to side to check the street and your eyes fell onto the car standing right across you. It was black with tinted windows. You recalled seeing the same exact car outside the restaurant and that part of your brain stuffed with crime shows is finally starting to crank its gears. 

The car was off and there was a good chance that no one was inside, but you were never one to believe in coincidences. 

"Steve," you said making sure not to look at the car again. 

"Yeah?" He asked and from his face, you think he's already noticed. 

"I might be crazy but I feel like I've seen the car across the street," you said, calmly. "At the restaurant." 

"So have I," he nodded with a smile as if he's just having a casual conversation. 

"Then what do we do?" You asked, shrugging. 

"Let's just walk," he replied, pulling you along with him. 

You walked down the sidewalk side by side and while your expression was calm, your insides were a frantic mess. 

The quick rhythmic beat of your steps against the cracked sidewalks wasn't the only thing breaking the deafening silence of the street as the sound of car doors slamming and burly footsteps shuffled behind you slowly. 

Your fingers intertwined with Steve's instinctively and he squeezes your hand tight. You look at him, heart thumping and thoughts racing. 

"Hey, baby, don't worry, I got you." He gave you an amused smile, masking his own fear. 

This isn't the first time something like this has happened, or the second, or the third. It's happened many times just not with an innocent civilian by his side. He had a knack for being a bit reckless but with you here he couldn't take that risk. Your safety was his top priority. 

You pouted with a huff. "Don't call me, baby," you warned, your strides growing wider to match his. 

"At the corner, we make a run for it," he ordered. 

You nodded, taking silent, deep breaths to calm your speeding heart. You didn't dare to take a look behind in fear of what you'd see. Not like you needed to see anything. The sound of their footsteps was enough to know that something was wrong, slow and anxiously needy. Each step towards the end of the street gets heavier. The ones behind getting dangerously closer. 

Steve pulls on your hand as he makes a sharp turn at the bend, dragging you behind him like a kite in the wind. You don't even know how you're keeping up with him at this point. It's just one foot in front of the other powered by an extraordinary rush of adrenaline. 

You can hear the baying howls of the men behind you, ordering you to stop as if you're actually going to do that. 

Steve's death grip on your hand is the only thing that keeps you anchored to the real world. Your thoughts are blank and all you can think of how you're possibly going to get out of this. 

There are two of you against at least five of them. 

Scratch that. More like one and a half against five. 

You're screwed. This was where you died and you didn't even get to graduate from college yet. 

Steve takes a sharp left at the corner and squeezes you into a tight alleyway between two buildings. 

You put your hand over your mouth, muffling the sound of your breathing. Heavy footsteps draw nearer and continue past the alleyway until they fade into the distance. Your hand drops to your side allowing you to take free breaths of fresh air. 

"You okay?" Steve asked, catching his own breath. 

You look up at him and nodded. "Yeah." 

The alleyway was narrow, very narrow, and the two of you were pressed against each other with only enough wiggle room for one to move. 

Steve's cheeks redden by the way your body is pressed against his in all the right places. Sure he's imagined it before, but not exactly like this. He looks at everything but you, so he doesn’t lose himself. 

He's not alone in his embarrassment as you start to heat up despite the frigid temperatures of a midwinter's night. 

"D-do you–um–do you think they're gone?" You whispered. 

He shrugs unknowingly. You squeeze past him just enough to stick your head out. You look to the left then to right. 

"I think the coast is clear," you said, getting out of the tight spot. Steve follows suit and pats the dust off his clothes. 

"Well that was something," he chuckles nervously. 

You place your hands on your hips with a judgemental look. "You've got a lot of explaining to do." 

Steve scratches the back of his head sheepishly. 

In the distance, the shrill screeching of wheels blares in the night with a blinding light coming in your direction. 

You should run, but your legs feel like mush and getting caught sounded better than running right now. Steve covers you with himself as the car slows just in front of you. 

The window rolls down to reveal a cheeky Bucky. 

Steve groans for the whole neighborhood to hear. "For fuck's sake, Buck, you scared the shit out of me." 

You peek out from behind him to find Bucky. His eyes meet yours and he smirks devilishly. 

"Sorry, big boss, been lookin' everywhere for you," he gets out of the car with a chuckle. "And of course I'd find you canoodling with ya girl." 

"I am no one's girl," you stated firmly, jumping out from behind. 

"Right. We're not there yet," Bucky replied and Steve might just snap his neck if he keeps talking. "Anyways my name's Bucky, I'm an old friend of Stevie's. Nice to finally meet ya," he extends his hand. You shake it warily. "That's Sam," he points at the man standing against the car behind him and I guess you already know Pete." 

"Hi, Y/N!" Peter waves, falling out of the back window with a gummy smile on his face. 

You gasp at the sight of the curly-haired boy. You run up to him at the window. 

"Peter! What are you doing here?" You questioned. "Do you know what time it is? Go home to your girlfriend!" 

"I wish." Peter sighed sadly, arms dangling out of the car. "But I can't, I'm on night duty." 

"Listen," Bucky directed towards Steve, "we got some trouble down at the dock in the Bronx. We think it's Rumlow." 

Steve mutters a curse underneath his breath. 

"I guess he's the same bastard that tried to kill me like five minutes ago," he cursed. "Can't take no for an answer." 

"Who's Rumlow? And why is he trying to kill you?" You asked, eyes solely on Steve, questioning his every gesture. 

Steve sighed, not really wanting you to get involved in all of this. He knew it'd happen someday, but not this fast. 

"I think it's best if we not talk about this out in the open," Sam advised. "So get in the car." 

"Best idea you've had all day, Sammy," Bucky noted opening his door.

"Shut up." 

Peter opens the door and scoots over to let you in and you have no choice but to go in. After what just happened, there's no way you're walking home alone. 

Steve sits right next to you and closes the door behind him, signaling Sam to drive. It's kind of awkward being stuck in a car with a bunch of mobsters, but beggars can't be choosers. At least you know they won't kill you.

"Nat's already at the house," Bucky told Steve. "She's the one who found out about the whole mixup in the Bronx." 

Steve nodded with a cautious look in his eye. Bucky knew exactly what he was saying without him even saying a word. 

"Not in front of her." 

"So where exactly are we going?" You asked. 

"My place," Steve replied. 

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought. 

"If it's not a problem can you just drop me home?" 

"I could but then I'd be worried about you all night," Steve said and it goes straight to the tips of your ears. It shouldn't have. The three snickered at Steve, but he ignored them. "Stay over my place for the night?"

“What? No, I can’t.” you denied. "I don’t even think they saw me,” you noted. “So it’ll be fine.” 

“You sure about that sis?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "The mob ain’t as simple as it sounds. They’re probably already trying to figure out who you are.” 

“Stop scaring her," Steve warned. 

“I’m not scared.” you retorted. “I just don’t wanna intrude.” 

“Or get involved," Bucky added. 

“Maybe that too. So just drop me off please? I’ve got class in the morning.” 

“Sorry, I can’t let that happen," Steve shakes his head in denial. "After what happened tonight who knows what’s gonna happen? I mean they could be trailing us for all we know. You really want those goons knowing where you live?” 

“No," you whispered. You didn't think about it like that. 

“Then just for tonight, okay?" He places his hand on top of yours and it feels nice, but not enough for you to accept. "I’ll drop you off first thing in the morning.” 

“Don’t worry,” Bucky turned towards you from the front. “Stevie’s got a really nice place. With big fancy iron gates and a giant fountain. Never-ending fridge. The whole shebang." 

Steve rolls his eyes. Sometimes he questioned why he even knew Bucky. 

"Besides you'll love Lucky," Sam pointed out. 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "Lucky? Who's Lucky?" 

"It's the boss's dog," Peter answered. 

Your jaw goes slack in shock. "YOU HAVE A DOG?" 

"Yeah," he said nonchalantly. 

"WHAT KIND?" You questioned shaking his arm violently, "HOW OLD?" 

"It's a Samoyed and two." He replied, pushed up against the door by the way you're bouncing on the seat. 

"Okay let's go to your place," you agreed. Steve chuckles with a shake of the head. "Hey, Sam right?" 

"Yeah?" 

"No offense man, but can you drive any faster?" You questioned. 

"I don't want a speeding ticket," Sam confessed. 

You look at him incredulously. 

"The Brooklyn Mob is just a bunch of twinks," you jeered. 

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed. 

"And you're the biggest one." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ho ho ho it is getting a bit spicy wonder what's gonna happen at Stevie's house 👀


	13. Insert Very Cute Very Soft Title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a bit long! ~5k words
> 
> i'm dedicating this one to all the girls who feel like they've never really been appreciated. ✊😔

“He’s so fluffy!” you fawned, squatting down to the dog's level, hands pressed against your cheeks as you looked at the fluffy cotton ball in complete awe. 

Lucky sat on his bottom, smiling and panting with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, unaware of the effect he was having on you. He sat relaxed but ready to pounce on Steve if he let him. You squealed, shaking your head back and forth, and the mob men find it amusing. 

"Don’t be rude Lucky, shake hands," Steve chuckled behind you. 

“Hello, Lucky,” you placed your hand in front of him and he placed his paw on top. “So cute!” you screamed in awe.  Steve pays close attention to the way your fingers sift through his luscious white fur. "Oh my god, you’re so soft!" 

“She really likes Lucky," Bucky chuckled. 

“I never knew she could be that nice," Steve shakes his head. His confusion and shock slowly morph into envy by the way you're playing with Lucky. "I can’t believe I’m jealous of a dog.” 

“Hey, at least you know she isn’t a gold digger," Sam said. You're too busy with the dog that you don't pay them any mind. "She completely ignored this giant mansion filled with priceless treasures."

"Would you shut up?" Steve asked annoyed. "She's literally right there." 

"She's gone, bro," Bucky crossed his arms. "She's not coming back anytime soon." 

"You guys are finally here," Nat said, strutting towards them from the hallway. "I was wondering where you were."

You stand up as the redhead walks towards you. "And you brought a friend," she smirks at Steve. He looks away with an irritated blush creeping on his cheeks.

"Hi, I think we met at the restaurant," you extended your hand for a shake. "My name is–" 

"Y/N," Nat shakes your hand. "I know. Stevie's told me a lot about you." 

Your face flushed warm and you turned towards him with a wicked grin. 

"Is that true,  **Stevie** ?" 

Steve gulps when you tease him, it's like a sweet blaze burning through his veins. Steve's lips form into a pout before clicking his tongue. 

"Alright, it ain't that funny," he said pointedly at the three snickering mischievously. "Sam, Bucky, Nat, in my office now," he ordered firmly, but it didn't phase them. "Peter stay here with Y/N." 

"Aye, aye, Captain." He saluted. 

He walks up to you and scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "I gotta have a quick meeting. If that's okay with you?" 

"No problem with me," you shake your head. 

Steve smiles brightly. "Thanks, it won't be too long. Make yourself at home," he turned on his heel. "If you need anything just ask Peter."

You chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll be fine, Stevie," you teased. 

Steve shakes his head with a blush staining his cheeks. "Stop," he said in an attempt to sound serious but trails off into a flustered chuckle. 

You turn to look at Peter. “So what do we do now?” 

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugs, “how about we sneak around and do something illegal?”

“In the kingpin’s house?” you smirked. “I love that idea.” 

“Great,” he beams, “Let’s—” Peter’s ringtone goes off and digs his hand into his pocket for his phone. He pulls it out and sighs. “It’s my girlfriend.” 

“Why must your girlfriend so conveniently call when we are on the brink of a major discovery?” 

“I don’t know,” Peter chuckled, “I shall answer and find out,” he takes a skip towards the living room for some privacy, leaving you alone with Lucky. 

You crouch down to his level. “Well, Lucky, I suppose our mystery gang is down to two,” you said, cupping his cheeks. “What do we do now? Got any embarrassing pictures of your old man we can go through?” 

Lucky barks and rushes off somewhere. He returns not a minute later with a ball in his mouth. He places the ball on the floor in front of you and pants heavily. 

“Ball?” you asked, “Are you even allowed to play ball in the house?” You shrugged, taking the ball into your hand. “Well, Steve did say to make ourselves at home. So that means— _ catch _ !”

Lucky scrambles after the ball, slipping along the shiny marble floor of the foyer and into the hallway. You wait patiently for him to return, observing the interior of the mansion’s foyer. The house was styled in an old French Country Style with worn and ornamental wooden furnishings and soft tones of warm colors. In the middle of the foyer was the staircase lined with shining mahogany banisters that narrow at the top and grow wide downwards. The walls are decorated with various paintings. All matching perfectly with the decor. 

You snorted while placing your hands on your hips. Of course, he’d have paintings in his house. It’s not like he couldn’t afford it. 

You realize that a couple of minutes have passed and Lucky still hadn’t returned with the ball. You walk down the hallway calling Lucky’s name quietly. The low tone of conversation comes from one of the rooms and you tiptoed towards the door, cracked open just enough for a beam of light to peer through. 

Crouching against the wall, you crane your neck towards the door to listen to the conversation inside. You were never one to eavesdrop but you had a lot of questions about Steve. A lot of questions he probably wouldn't want to answer. 

You squeak at the feel of something soft brush against your leg and turn to find Lucky sitting next to you, ball in mouth. He drops the ball drenched in his slobber into your hand. Slightly disgusted you smiled at him. “Where have you been?” you whispered before turning back inside. 

"Those men were either Rumlow or Chicago, we're not exactly sure." 

"We'll find out." 

"Chill out, Stevie, the girl's fine." 

"It's not something to chill out about, Bucky," Steve countered, "She could've gotten hurt." 

There's a genuine sound of worry and care in his words and even without taking a peek inside, you imagine what he looks like. Eyebrows knitted loosely in frustration, lips curved downward slightly in anger, jaw ticking, muscles bulging underneath white sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and hands placed flat on his desk as he's hunched over with the most despicable expression on his face. And it's all because of you.  _ For you. _ You didn't know if it was right or wrong.

Bucky snorted along to the creaking of the chair he was sitting on being balanced on its hind legs. "Not when her prince in shining armor's there to save h–ow! Okay! I'm sorry!" He hollered. 

"This isn't a time for jokes, Buck," Nat stated, seriously. 

"The clown can't help himself," Sam snickered.

"Screw you, Wilson," Bucky jabbed. Sam was ready to retort but Nat interjected. 

"What if it's neither?" Nat proposed. "What if they're all working together?" 

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked, clueless. Nat sighed. 

"Think about it. The Gambinos work with Lucchese. They're pals. Rumlow’s working with Lucchese and he shows up with this proposition right after Steve decided to nuke the Gambino brothers." 

_ Wait, nuke who? Nuke as in bomb? He's killing people?  _

_ All of a sudden, Quentin's highly irritating, fatherly voice twinkles in the back of your head.  _

"You mean they're all in this together?" Sam questioned. 

"What else am I trying to say?" Nat snapped.

"Woah Sis, better check that attitude," Bucky replied. 

"You wanna say that again, Buckethead?" She asked, dangerously low. 

Bucky gulps while shaking his head. 

"Thought so." 

"If they're all working together, who's the head?" Sam said, rubbing his hand across his chin. 

"It could be a compromise?" Nat stated. "Working together to take over?" 

"No, they ain't that buddy-buddy," Steve counters with a grumble. "There's gotta be one at the top that brought them together." 

The room goes silent for a few minutes and you can hear your heartbeat bouncing back and forth between your chest and the wall. Lucky opens his mouth to bark and you quickly cover it with your hands. 

"Sshh," you whispered with a finger in front of your lips. 

"Hydra," Steve stated and your attention returns to inside. 

"What?" Bucky asked incredulously, "there's no way." 

"No wait a second," Sam stopped him. "The Gambinos were working with Hydra behind our back. Who's to say Lucchese isn't?" 

"Sam's got a point," Nat agreed. "Hydra could be the head. They're covering themselves up with the big guys and those dumbasses are falling for it." 

Bucky nodded. "Makes sense. The underdog's taking a chance to make it to the top."

"Well they're messing with the wrong mob," Sam snarled. "We'll show 'em just what we're made of." 

"But, we can't afford a war," Bucky reminded, "Not when elections are coming up." 

_ War? What does he mean by that? Does he mean like a GANG WAR? OH GOD, WHAT AM I DOING HERE? _

"Bucky's right,” Steve agrees.

"For once," Nat quickly replied, earning a grumble from Bucky. 

"Here's what we do," Steve started. You notice just how different he sounds. Stately and somewhat dictating, very serious with speckles of something dark. Something that makes shivers crawl down your spine. He doesn't sound like the Steve you knew. 

“We wade this out," he continues, “Let it pass until the elections are over and then we hit ‘em." 

"You think T'challa's gonna like that?" Nat asked. 

"He will if he wants to keep his ass on that chair," Sam retorts. 

"We don't make any moves until the elections pass and he wins," Steve re-stated. "Tell everyone working under you to lay low. No fights. No bullshit," he ordered. "We make 'em feel like it was nothing. Ya hear?" 

"Got it," Bucky nodded. 

You hear them shuffling inside, chairs being pushed, and steps coming towards the door and take it as your cue to disappear. Quickly picking up Lucky, who's heavier than he looks, you quietly run down the hall just as Bucky opens the door. 

"And the girl?" Nat asked while Sam helped her put her coat on. 

"What about her?" Steve asked, clearing the papers from his desk. 

"If you're gonna keep her around, which you probably are, you have to tell her what she's getting into." 

Steve sighs and drops his papers back onto the desk. 

"Nat's right, buddy, she needs to know before it gets worse," Bucky agreed. 

"I'll talk to her," Steve responded.

"Tonight?" Nat asked her tone stating that he better say yes. 

"Tonight." 

A haze of smoke dances underneath dim lights, above and around the round table of Sir Alexander's notorious mobsters. 

The thick smell of alcohol and cigars mingled with the aroma of day-old pizza inside of Gino's Pizzeria. A few sat around the table playing cards, laughing raucously at another lewd joke. Others lined the bar with the wall illuminated by speckled bar lights shining through bottles of different hues. 

It was always a den of debauchery, alcoholism, and the great unwashed of the town. No one came there with anything wholesome in mind. 

Strucker walks past the men, each of them giving their stalwart a greeting nod or word, and into the back. He opens the door, gaining the attention of the men sitting around the table. They look at him with questioning eyes and he gulps silently. His eyes meet the cold ones of the man at the head of the table, sending a shiver down the grown man's spine. Alexander Pierce, the leader of Hydra. 

"He got away," Strucker informed. 

"How'd you let that happen?" Pierce asked, tapping his finger against the wooden table. 

"It was dark," he said blankly. 

"Are you fucking serious?" Rumlow asked incredulously. "He's not serious is he?" He points at Strucker while looking at Zemo. 

Zemo sighed, slightly irritated by Rumlow. He's been all night. "With all due respect sir, I told you it would've been a bad move to do this," Zemo told Pierce. "But it's not like anyone listens to me around here," he looks straight at Rumlow. 

"What the hell are you looking at me for?" He pointed at himself with both his hands. "I had an idea and you all liked it. How is this solely my fault?" 

"Everything you ever come up with goes to shit," Zemo stated flatly. "Now the kingpin knows we're sneaking around." 

"They don't know it's us," Rumlow retorted. 

"But they know it's someone and most likely you," Zemo said pointedly. 

"The boss gave me the okay," Rumlow replied. Zemo always had a way of getting under his skin. "So your opinion doesn't matter." 

"After begging like a dog for it," Zemo bites. 

Rumlow quickly stands, shaking the table along with him. "You wanna say that again?" He threatens with a grisly voice. 

"Rumlow, sit down," Pierce stated calmly, unphased by his outrage, but slightly irritated by the three of them. "Zemo, shut up." 

The two follow their stalwart's orders giving each other death stares making the older man sighed deeply like a tired mother. 

"The Brooklyn Mob is the biggest force in the city. They've got the biggest territory. The best guys. And all the politicians that can do something," Zemo lists. "They got the mayor. Half the police force on their payroll. The best damn lawyer in the city." 

"Nick Fury's getting old. He can't do that forever," Strucker said, lighting a cigarette. 

"For old Rogers? I highly doubt it." Rumlow guffaws. "You know how much he gets paid for keeping his ass outta jail?" 

"But there's always a weak spot," Pierce pointed out, cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "No great empire lasts forever. They all have a weakness.” he sits back in his chair, hooking his leg over the other. “All we need to do is find one.” 

“How are you going to do that?” Rumlow asked, completely confused. “No Brooklyn mobster is dumb enough to go against the kingpin, not like they want to anyway. They’re the cockiest little shits I’ve ever met.” 

Zemo shakes his head. “You’re thinking too outwardly, Rumlow. We need someone on the inside, someone close to ol’ Rogers.”

“You mean like Barnes or Wilson?” Rumlow questioned, incredulously. “Good luck with that Harvard man.” Zemo huffs through his nose with a grimace. 

"We need something. Something good,” Pierce told them. “Something that'll make the kingpin fall so far that he'll never get back up." 

“I think I have something,” Strucker raises his hand. 

“Strucker, be quiet, you don’t even have a brain,” Rumlow shuts him down. 

“Honestly listen to me,” he persisted. “There’s some talk going on around the city.” 

“Well, are you gonna tell us?” Pierce questioned harshly. 

“Apparently, Rogers’ got a girl.”

Rumlow scoffed. “That’s news? Who cares about some chick he’s fucking?” 

“No, no this may be something,” Pierce counters and Strucker smiles small. “Rogers is a gentleman. He’s sweet around the ladies.” 

“Well, whoop de doo his momma taught him some manners before kicking the bucket. So what?”

“Whoever this girl is,” Strucker started. “She’s important to him. Maybe even more than his damn mob. I mean everyone knows the kingpin doesn’t back out of a fight, but this time he did and wanna know why? Because  _ she _ was there with him.” 

“Who is this girl?” Zemo asked him. 

“I don’t know. No one knows,” he shrugs, “Probably a civilian.”

“So what do we do?” Rumlow asks the others. “Go after the girl? Bribe him into it?”

Pierce shakes his head with a frown. “No, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he stood up, looking at his three best. “Rumlow, you’re gonna stay low.” he pointed at him then at Strucker. 

“Strucker, you’re gonna find this girl, get every piece of information you can on her. Every damn thing you hear me?” Strucker nods in haphazard. “But don’t make a move. Not until I say so. This girl may just be what we need,” Pierce smiles devilishly and laughs haughtily. 

“And what about me?” Zemo asked with furrowed brows. 

“Pack your bags, kid, you’re going on a trip,” he patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. 

“What?” he questioned Pierce as he walked away. “Where?”

Pierce stops at the door and turns back with a wicked glint in his eye and the gears in his aged brain concocting a toxic plan. 

“Jolly old England!” 

“So you live in this huge place all alone?” you asked, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island with Lucky resting on the floor next to you.

The kitchen alone was bigger than your entire apartment complete with granite-topped counters, sparkling clean kitchen items, and that never-ending fridge Bucky was talking about. 

"Not really," Steve said, making some coffee. "I've got a penthouse. Smaller. Closer to work. I usually stay there." 

"But you're still all alone.” 

Steve stops for a second to ruminate on your words. True, he was alone. He didn’t have any family left, except for Lucky. He always tried not to think about it by keeping himself busy, but loneliness had a way of sneaking up on him. He shrugged, pulling out two mugs from the cabinet above him. 

"I don't know being alone isn't so bad,” he replied, placing the cups down. “It gives you time to think. About yourself. About what you want in life and what you don't,” You listened while watching him pour some coffee into a mug. “You can use that time to find out something you never knew about yourself." 

“I guess,” you replied sheepishly. 

He turns with a smile telling you not to feel bad. He places a mug in front of you. "Besides I'm not always alone. I've got my friends." 

"Oh yeah,” you chuckled. “How could I ever forget them? They're kinda hard to miss." 

Steve laughs, returning to the counter to get his cup. "Sorry if they're annoying." 

"No, they're not annoying,” you shake your head, cupping the mug with both of your hands. "I like them. They seem like a lot of fun." 

He snorts. "They can be when they want to." 

You take a sip of the hot liquid. A sweet wave of French Vanilla bombards your tastebuds. You notice a yellow sketchbook, sticking out from underneath some junk mail. Without thinking, you pull the book out. 

"You draw?" 

He turns to see you with his book in your hand. He smiles sheepishly.  _ Why did I leave that there!?  _ "A little,” he replied, turning back to work on his coffee. 

"Seems to be more than a little,” you chuckled. "Can I?" 

"Hmm, oh yeah sure go ahead,” he said, adding some creamer to his mug. He stops midway when he realizes what book was in your hand. The yellow one. The one no one was supposed to see. Especially the girl who’s picture he drew horribly in it. 

He almost drops the creamer as he quickly lunges over the granite top as you turned the page. "W-wait! Not—not that one!" he shouted, as you turned the page to reveal a picture of you. It’s a simple headshot going down to just above your chest. 

Steve’s face goes red as half off him lays on top of the table, watching the way you’re looking at the picture he drew. Your eyes move from place to place, taking in every part he drew with attention to detail. Every stroke twisted into a lacy network of pencil lead. The painstaking task of shading to represent the contrast between light and dark. It’s fragile, natural, beautiful in its own way. 

It makes you think. How long did he take to make this? How many hours did he erase to get it all right? Every line has been made with care, every stroke with you in mind. 

Brushing your fingers along the picture you gasp in awe. "This is me." 

"It is," he murmurs. You turn quiet and look at the sketch in wonder. Steve takes your silence as you being weirded out and begins to ramble an excuse. 

"I'm really sorry. I just...I don't know what happened to me and I drew this cause I was thinking about you and I know it's really creepy—." 

"I like it," you interrupted. 

"What?"

"I said I like it. I love it actually," you looked up at him, beaming. "I've never had my portrait done before." 

He stands straight and scratches the back of his head still embarrassed. "I'm- um- glad you like it."

"You've really outdone yourself with this. I don't even look this pretty," you remarked. 

Steve was taken aback at first then shakes his head with a sad smile. 

"I don't–I don't think that at all. I'm still lacking so much. I still can't get that pretty smile of yours right or that sparkle in your eye," lifting up your head, your eyes meet his vibrant, honest ones. "I'll never be able to recreate the things that make you so beautiful.”

_ Beautiful _ .

That's something you've never really felt before. Something no one's ever really said before. It's always been the opposite. There are a million flaws you could pick out right there and then, but you take his words as truth.

There's a dry ache in your throat as tears start to bubble at the corners of your eyes. You sniffle as teardrops fall onto the paper. 

"What's wrong?" Steve came towards you in a hurry. 

You shake your head, wiping away the tears "It's just," you sniffled, rubbing your eye. "No one's ever really said that to me before," you look up with a smile and red eyes. "Sorry, I'm getting your book all wet," you chuckled, avoiding his eyes. 

His heart aches at your words, his fingers itching to wrap around you in an embrace. He wants you to  _ feel loved _ .  _ Feel wanted.  _ He wanted you to know just how beautiful you really were. He wanted you to see yourself the way he saw you.

"That's fine. I don't care," he whispered, gently weaving his hands in yours. "Y/N." 

You look up at him and he's left breathless again. To him, you’ve always been an understated beauty. Simple and sweet. Confident and strong. Perhaps that was the reason why your skin glowed. It was your inner beauty that lit your eyes and softened your features. 

When you smiled and laughed he couldn’t help but follow along. To be in your company made him feel like he was more than just a mob boss. That he too deserved to be warmed in summer rays regardless of the season. 

"You're very beautiful," he repeated and it feels more special the second time. 

You chuckle while shaking your head, your hands still in his. 

"If you're tryna get in my pants, kingpin, it’s not gonna work," you jabbed playfully. 

He rolled his eyes, his lips curling in a playfully peeved grin. 

"Can't I say something just for the sake of saying it?" 

You smiled sheepishly, slipping off the stool and standing. "I guess you can." 

Before he could even say another word, you pull him down to you and kiss him straight on the lips. Not on the cheek. But on the lips and it catches him completely off guard. 

It's quick and chaste but it's something Steve's been dreaming of for a long time. Those pretty plump lips against his felt softer than heaven, sweeter than honey. When you part just a split second later, he feels lonely but content with the promise of another meeting. 

You giggle sweetly, your breath mingling with his, tickling – _ teasing  _ his lips to come closer for more. 

"I should really get to bed," you said, standing a bit back. "I've got an early class." 

"Yeah, of course," he nodded with a beaming smile. "Let me show you to your room." 

Pulling you by the hand, he leads you out of the kitchen and towards the staircase. Everything seems so perfect at that moment. The dim light of a chandelier twinkling above, your hand perfectly intertwined in his, and his deep, soothing voice rambling that sounded more like the hazy tune of a sweet melody. 

Never in your dreams did you think you'd get to share a moment like this let alone with a man like him. Dangerous for sure, but sweet and humble, generous and caring. All the good things about him seemed to outmatch the one bad thing. So what if he had a bit of notoriety? The world wasn't perfect and neither were you. 

Sometimes you find the things you want most in life in the most unexpected of places. You found yours in him. Though small at the moment it could blossom into something more. And for that "what if" you were more than willing to stay. 

“I think Lucky wants to sleep with you tonight," Steve chuckles as the puppy pushes his way through the door and your legs. 

"I don't mind," you smiled at him making his way to the bed. 

You reached on your tiptoes and gave Steve a kiss on the cheek. “Good night.” 

Steve smiles sweetly not really wanting to leave. He plants a kiss on your intertwined hand, igniting a blazing fire across the skin of your arm. “Good night," he wishes. 

Quentin stood by the science building on campus as he did every day, waiting for you to drag yourself to school like you did every day, but this time he finds something he didn’t expect. His jaw drops at the sight of you driving up in the passenger seat of a sparkling silver Corvette. It’s only until the car stops by him on the side of the curb does he really believe that it’s you. 

"Y/N! What are you doing with him?!” he shouted with an accusatory point. 

“Oh, hey Quentin," you got out of the convertible not really paying attention to him. You turn towards Steve. "Thanks for the ride, Steve and for letting me stay.” 

“You spent the night with him?!” he hollered, waving his arms around. 

“No problem, sweetheart," Steve chuckled sweetly. 

“Don’t call her that!” Quentin shouted, standing next to you. 

Your eyes are completely fixated on Steve and don't notice Quentin glaring at you. “See ya around sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d love to," the blonde agreed with a smile. 

“Stop ignoring me!” Quentin huffed putting his hands on his hips. 

“Do you hear that annoying sound or is it just me?” Steve asked, teasingly, earning a giggle in return. 

“Y/N, what the hell were you doing with this criminal for an entire night?” 

“It’s a long story Quentin I’ll tell you later,” you waved him off. 

“I demand to know right now!” 

You rolled your eyes with a huff. “I’ll tell you after class," you stated with emphasis.

“Hey,” Steve calls you back. “If anything happens, you call me right away. You hear me?”

“You have his number?” Quentin asked through gritted teeth. He just couldn’t process how you went from hating him two days ago to sleeping over his house. 

You smiled with a nod. “Yeah, I’ll tell you don’t worry.” Steve takes your hand and kisses it. 

“I’ll see you later then?” he asked again, running his thumb across the ridges of your knuckles and you wanted to melt right there. 

“Call me when you’re free,” you told him with a sudden urge to kiss him again. But not right now, Quentin would raise hell if he saw that.  _ As if he wasn’t already. _

“What the fuck is happening here?” Quentin questioned. “You stay away from her,” he pointed at the blonde. Steve gave him a snarky smile that said:  _ I do what I want twink ass bitch _ and it only pisses him off more. “And you stop looking at him like he’s your fucking Romeo.”

“I mean if the job’s open?” Steve shrugged, his Prada sunglasses hanging low on his nose and looking over at you. You chuckled as Quentin pulls you along by the hand. 

“It’s not.” he bit back. “So leave before I call the cops.” 

You bite your lip, highly tempted to skip class, jump back into his convertible, and have him take you wherever he wants to. Along lone country roads, feeling the wind twirl through your hair as he holds your hand in his, kissing it from time to time as he drives into a tangy orange sunset. You’ll take it one step further, pressing a kiss onto his cheek and along his jaw until you reach those pretty lips. 

_ God, what was happening to you?  _

"What are you staring at?” Quentin hissed, bringing you back to your senses. He points upward toward the building. “Get your butt up those stairs right now!" 

You follow your  <strike> dad  </strike> friend up the stairs as he goes off about how out of line you are. You turn around as he pulls you behind him. Your eyes meet Steve’s baby blues, twinkling under the sunlight. You chuckle at him as he waves goodbye. 

You press your hands against your lips and send a kiss towards him flamboyantly. He clutches his chest and falls back onto his seat dramatically leaving you a giggly mess. It's a pity that you had to leave so soon. 

You shoot one last smile his way before going inside and it's like Cupid's arrow shot him right through the heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi ho, I hoped you liked it! Um??? You're beautiful and if you tell me otherwise prepare to catch these internet hands!


	14. Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short filler chapter. :) 
> 
> warnings: mentions of death and slightly depressive thoughts

Steve waits in his car, tapping his fingers along to the beat of a lazy tune he was humming. His fingers brushed along the four ring symbol embedded into the center of the steering wheel of his Audi R8. 

The windows were down letting the heated rays of the sun shine on his arm lining the window pane. 

It was one of those weird days again. A clear sunny day in the middle of January. Being an avid lover of hating the cold, he wasn't complaining, but he knew that an out-of-place summer day in midwinter was a foreboding omen that Mother Nature was brewing a deadly storm. 

He sighs looking to his side and out the window to see students walk by. Some in a hurry and others not so much. His lips twist into a crooked smile when he catches a few passersby ogling the curves of his car like she's some hot babe on the beach. Some of them even spotting the Adonis sitting inside, lowering their glasses to get a real good look. He liked the attention. 

Steve was never taught to be prideful. What was his today could be someone else's tomorrow. But as a rich man, he couldn't  _ not  _ show off a bit. And where else to show off than in front of his girl's school? 

Well, she wasn't "his girl" _ yet _ but he liked to  _ think  _ she was. No harm in that? Right?

Steve sits back in his seat folding his hands over his chest while smiling to himself. He texted you earlier saying he'd pick you up from class today for the sole reason of saying he missed you. 

You obviously argued with a burning blush on your cheeks, saying you could go home on your own. He only replied with a  _ "I'll pick you up at three."  _

It's fifteen minutes past three and he's wondering where you are. He gets out of the car to stretch his legs and get a good dose of Vitamin D. He leans against the car, one pocket in his hand, the other holding his phone, thumb tapping away until he finds your contact. 

_ "You better not be dipping."  _ He texts. 

The typing bubble pops up almost right away. 

_ "Don't get your panties all in a bunch. I just had to make study group plans." _

He smiles, starting to type something snarky. He stops half way when you send another text. 

_ "God, I can see your hideous face from all the way over here.  _ 👹" 

He looks up and sees you walking over, bag slung over one shoulder with a textbook in your hand. He smiles and waves as you approach him with two girls.

"Hey, loser," you greeted with a lazy salute. 

He snorts, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?" he retorted. 

Your lips form into a pout and you huff through your nose. 

"Are you going to introduce us to your friend, Y/N?" One of the girls asked with a sly grin. She was pale skinned with jet black hair and striking blue eyes. 

"Oh, um, this is Steve," you pointed at him. "Steve, these are my friends. Jane and Darcy," you introduced by motioning to each one. 

"Hi nice to meet ya," he waved. 

"Sooo," Darcy drawled. "Are you Y/N's boyfriend?" 

Steve's cheeks tint a light pink and the girls don't miss it. They chuckled as he started spewing out random words. "Uh well uhm, I don't–" 

"Tsk, tsk, Y/N," Darcy teased, "you leading him on?" 

"It's not like that!" You retorted, a bit loud. 

"I feel like I've seen you somewhere before," Jane spoke up. "Are you a model or something?" She asked. 

Steve laughs heartily. "No, no, I'm not, but thanks for the compliment." 

"Back off, Jane!" Darcy exclaimed, a common trace of mischief streaking her tone. "That's Y/N's man!" 

"Darcy!" You grumbled, clutching the book in your hand tighter and ready to swing at her if she didn't shut up. 

"Oh my gosh, of course, I'm so sorry," Jane chuckled. You sink behind your book as Steve scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. "You two make a really cute couple," she complimented. 

Steve beams at her words. "Thanks!" He exclaims. You glare at him, eyes shooting daggers at him. Sadly, it does nothing to stop him from smiling like an idiot. Nothing ever really did. 

"Woah, fancy car you got here," Darcy remarked, sliding her hand against jetblack metal. "Imported?" 

"All the way from Germany," Steve boasted with a smile. He was proud of his baby.

Darcy smirks at his tone, she looks over to you. "You have good taste," she winks and Steve can't help but let out a chuckle. 

You swing your book at her, face red from her constant teasing. "Oh shut up!" 

She takes a step back, laughing like a maniac. Jane hooks her arm in Darcy's. 

"C'mon, Darcy, let's go," she tugs on her arm with a wicked grin splayed on her face. "We don't want Y/N, to be late for her date." 

"It's not–oh forget it," you gave up, your shoulders dropping in defeat. 

"Have fun, you two," Jane waves goodbye. 

"You two need a ride?" He offered. 

"No, not this time, but maybe the next," Jane replied with a smile as they headed off. 

You groaned quietly. "Shall we go now?" Steve asked with a smile. 

"I guess so," you nodded, walking to the other side. You open the door and get inside. "Sorry, they're kind of annoying." 

"No, I like them," Steve shakes his head, starting the car. 

"Like dissolves with like, I suppose," you shrugged. 

Steve rolls his eyes as he shifts into drive and gets out of the curb. "Alright, Princess, where to?" 

"Home would be nice," you replied, looking out the window, secretly swooning because of his nickname. 

He boldly takes your hand resting on the textbook in your lap and tugs on it gently. You look over at him. It’s a sight to behold, one hand over the steering wheel and the other in yours. It's a picture you like and there's a strange feeling of intimacy in it all.

He shares his eyes between you and the street as he asks a question. 

"The long way or the short way?" 

You chuckled, wishing he wasn't so cute. 

"The long way, please." 

"Do they call you Godfather?" you asked without any context. 

Steve chuckles, walking beside you in the park beside the East River and under the Brooklyn Bridge. 

"No, that'd be kinda weird if they did," he replied. "Besides that's an Italian thing and I'm Irish." 

"Right, I guess my view of the mob is very skewed," you said.

"Maybe just a little," he chuckles and measuring with his hand. 

"So when did you actually start?" you asked. "Like how'd you know this was what you wanted to do?" 

"My family's been running the Brooklyn mob for ages," he informs. "I was the next in line so I had to take it." 

"You were forced into it?" 

"No, not like that, it's more of a duty, an honor so to speak," he replied. "It just seems kind of wrong if I left everything my ancestors built to screw around." 

"I get that," you nodded. 

"Does it bother you?" He asked. 

"What?" 

"Me being in the mob," he elaborated, feeling somewhat ashamed. 

"No, not really," you shrugged with a shake of the head. "Okay, maybe when I'm being chased down the street it does," you said, a chuckle coloring your words and he chuckles along. "But other than that I'm alright. I believe you shouldn't really judge a book by its cover," you smiled at him and he follows. 

You skipped around him and over to the side of the path, stepping onto the blocks that held the fence along the river. Your fingers curl around the metal rods, letting you balance yourself on top. 

Your hair twirls in the briny breeze that passes by as hues of orange and pink begin to paint the sky. Steve stands beside you, his back to the river, head turned to look up at you.

"So what about your family?" You asked.

Steve tenses for a second. "Just me,” he replies with a lopsided small. “My mom died of cancer when I was a kid. So my dad raised me by himself,” he turns over and rests his elbows on the rail. 

“He never got married again?” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “He didn’t want to. He used to say no one could ever be Sarah and he didn’t want anyone else but her.” 

“He really loved her, didn’t he?” you said. 

Steve turned to you with a smile, the wind blowing through his blonde locks. “He did,” he smiled sadly, “They’re happy together now.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was killed a while back. Got shot through the heart three times,” Steve told you. Truth is, he hated talking about it. 

“Because he was the kingpin,” you connected the dots. He nodded and a cold shiver runs down your spine. The reality of the mob really started to sink in. 

“Don't you ever feel afraid? That they might do the same to you?” 

Steve raised his shoulder in a half shrug. “Not really. I've been in the mob all my life. I’ve never really felt like I needed to be afraid,” he explained, “Besides it’s not like I really have much to stay for, if I left I don’t think it’d really change the course of things.” 

Your lips part to speak but there aren’t any words. Steve never seemed like the one who’d have such grim thoughts. He was cheerful and warm as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But anyone could wear a mask. That was something you knew all too well. 

Steve notices sadness written on your face and he takes your hand in his. “But lately I’ve been thinking,” he brushes his thumb over of your hand, admiring how soft it is, “that might not be entirely true.” 

“It isn’t,” you replied with a shy smile, “I can name a couple of people that’d want you to stay. Me, being the first.” 

He smiles with a quiet chuckle, pulling you closer by the hand. “Yeah? I thought you hated me?” 

“No, I don’t hate you,” you retorted with a roll of the eyes, “I don’t really know what is that I feel when it comes to you but it’s certainly not that.” 

Your back hits the railing behind as he turns to stand in front of you. He gives you a smile that is so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness and it sends an unexpected warmth through you. “You’re really cute when you talk like that,” 

Your cheeks burn bright, laughing at him. “You know you’re the first guy to ever make me blush so hard,” you told him with a shy smile. 

Steve dips his head, leaning into your space. “I guess that makes me special?” 

“Maybe just a little,” you mused. He rests his forehead against yours and the two of you start giggling like children. 

When you look at him, Steve smiles warmly like the morning light, but there’s something solemn swimming in his eyes. 

“Y/N, about what happened that night," he recalled. 

“Yeah?” 

“Um, I-” he tries to find the words. “It’s just. It’s not going to go away. They’ll come back and it could get worse. Maybe not tomorrow but someday,” he warned. “What I’m really trying to say is that as long as you’re with me it’ll be dangerous.”

“Are you telling me to leave?” you asked, your voice laced with worry. 

“No," he shakes his head in denial. He says it too fast, maybe a bit needy. "Never," he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Only when you want to. But I’m hoping you’ll stay.” 

A small smile forms on your face. “I want to stay," you replied. Your hands squeeze his tightly in assurance, keeping him from floating off into space. "With you." 

Steve's heart fluttered like a butterfly caught in a heavy gust of wind. Battered back and forth between thick walls, just trying to make it through without falling. 

Steve smiles wide, the blush on his cheeks growing evident. Who would've thought the kingpin could blush so much? Let alone fall so hard for one girl when he had a million on his tail. 

He had the world in his hand but all he really wanted was you. And it's like his dream was finally coming true. 

"Besides, if anyone tries to mess with me I'll be sure to give 'em what they came for," you remarked, playfully punching him in the chest. 

“A real Brooklyn Baby," he jested with a laugh. 

“Oh shut up," you retorted, a chuckle coloring your words. 

“Make me," he goaded with a grin. 

You pulled him gently by the collar of his shirt, bringing him closer until his lips hover over yours. Your breath brushes along his lips, but you don't make another move. You're teasing him and it drives him crazy. Crazy to the point he forgets all that's around him. 

Unable to bear the gap in between, Steve takes your face in his hands and pulls you into a bruising kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck by instinct, pulling him in deeper.

By the cool currents of the East River and under the fading heat of the setting sun, you feel warm in his arms and loved in his embrace like there's nowhere else in the world you could ever truly belong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't going to post anything until next week but I can't help myself. So I think everyone's noticed that the two idiots' relationship is growing and we are transitioning into what I'd like to think of like the second part of the story. I have three parts and I hope to fall through with it. :) 
> 
> Hope you liked it and that you have a wonderful week.


	15. Author's Note

hi, sorry to get everyone's hopes up for another update, but i just wanted to say that i'm putting this work on hiatus until further notice.

I've been getting a lot of mean comments about this story lately and i usually just delete them but i was in a real bad place with my mental health and it really became the tipping point for me. I am super self-conscious and have severe social anxiety, so it takes a lot for me to actually post things because i'm always worrying about how people would react to it. I already know I'm not as good as other writers and it's something that eats at me a lot especially when I'm writing a new chapter. I do this solely for fun but nowadays it doesn't seem like that. I don't feel comfortable writing this anymore so I'm just going to stop for a while. 

I'm sorry again and I hope to come back with better content. 

thank you, 

lovemeter


	16. A Very Manly Heart to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i'm back! i tried to proofread this to the best of my ability.

Your fingers were intertwined with his. 

They’ve been all night. 

At first, his touches were subtle, shy, nudges hinting of wanting something more. Something only you could give him. And as the night unraveled, you gave into his gentle pleas. Your hand slipped perfectly in his while waiting in line at the boba shop. 

It caught him off guard at first. He whipped his head towards you with wide eyes flitting back and forth between your clasped hands and you perusing the menu on the wall. You acted like it was nothing. As if it's always been like this. Fingers crossed against his, palms pressed against each other like two puzzle pieces with a perfect fit. 

And when you pulled him along to find a table, his footsteps felt lighter, his insides felt like jelly, and the world seemed a bit brighter. 

Tonight it was boba. The night before it was coffee at the bookstore. The night before that was milkshakes at an old diner. 

It had become the routine for the past week. He’d come to pick you up after class and take you somewhere new with the sole subject of your conversations being each other. Your likes and dislikes. The never-ending debate about the arts and sciences which usually ended in harmless insults. Then when you felt like you've had your fix for the night, he’d drive you home. That was your favorite part of the night. 

Your fingers would be loosely intertwined with his. Your thumb brushing against his finger periodically. Eyes glued to the window, watching the city at dusk twinkle underneath the moonlight or rushing by as blurred lights. The windows would be turned down just enough to let in a winter breeze, just enough to cool the heating blush scattered on your cheeks. Neither of you would speak, only listen to the words of your heart dancing along to the murmurs of a sweet melody on the radio. 

“What are you going to do now?” Steve asked, walking down the hall to your apartment. 

You shrug. “Oh, probably study something,” you thought aloud, “rewrite notes, maybe.” 

Your tone is melancholic, expressing the dread that’s beginning to fill you at the thought of all the things you had to do. 

“Do you really study?” he asks with a chuckle when you stop at the door. He leans against the wall next to you. “Or are you just saying that to keep that perfect student image you got going?” he teases. 

You raise a brow paired with a sassy smile. “And what do you think I do with my free time?” 

Steve’s lips contort into a sly smirk. “Think of me,” 

You rolled your eyes and slapped him on the chest, slightly pushing him away. “Oh, you are so full of yourself!” He laughs, falling back. “Do you though?” he asks with a soft smile and even softer eyes. 

Your expression mirrors his. You look down bashfully then back up to find him still looking at you. “Sometimes I do,” you confess shyly, “But then I realize that it’s a waste of my time and I’d rather do better things," you scrunch your nose. 

Steve groans loudly. “You’re so mean to me.” 

You shrug while lifting your nose in the air. “Someone’s gotta bully the kingpin. Might as well be me.” 

“I wouldn’t mind that at all,” he stands straight. He takes your hand in his and dips his face into your space. “Maybe I can come over and help you study?” he suggests. Although it sounds more like he’s tempting you. “Read your flashcards for you?” 

You chuckled. “We’ve done that before and you did horrible.” 

“I’m practicing,” he whines, his voice lilting with his words. 

You bite your lip, thinking of what to do. He’s making that stupid puppy dog face and maybe if he did it a few weeks ago you wouldn’t give in but things were a bit different now. "You can only come over if you're not a distraction." 

Steve beams. "I promise to be on my best behavior,” he says to make you chuckle. He comes closer until his lips catch yours in a simple kiss. 

The door to your apartment opens suddenly. You jump back from Steve, completely startled to find Quentin standing in your apartment. 

He isn’t happy. His lips were twisted into a hard frown. His soft blue eyes were shooting you disappointed looks. He decided to keep his focus strictly on you because he knew the minute he looked in Steve’s direction he was going to lose it. 

"Quentin!” you yelled. “What are you doing here?" 

“I’m supposed to be here,” he retorted. “Remember?”

You stay quiet. Quentin knew about the key under the rug and you had no problem with him being over, but you didn't know what he was talking about. 

He huffs deeply. “Did you really forget what today is?” his shoulders drop with a sad pout. 

_Silence. _

“It’s Friday.” 

“Wow he’s so smart,” Steve compliments, “Does he do tricks?” 

Quentin grumbles. 

“Steve,” you hit him on the chest with the back of your hand. 

“It’s Overwatch night!” he exclaims. 

“That was tonight?” 

“It’s always Friday night!” he waves his hands around. “More importantly, do you know how worried I was?” he questioned. “You didn’t pick up any of my calls.” 

Your brows knitted in confusion. You take your phone out of your coat pocket and check it.

_10 missed calls from yours truly._

_Oh, I'm in trouble now. _

“My phone’s on silent,” you chuckle nervously, “sorry about that.”

Quentin isn’t laughing. 

You stop laughing and try to pry away from his glare by looking at everything but him. 

Overwatch night was a serious matter. It was a tradition that the two of you did together and only the two of you. Because that’s how it’s always been. Just the two of you. But nowadays, he hardly ever sees you. And it feels like you’re slipping out of his fingers. 

“Well I guess Overwhatever night is cancelled, so you can go home now,” Steve chimes in. 

“It’s Overwatch,” he replies sternly.

“I don’t care,” Steve says indifferently. 

“Me and you need to have a talk,” he directed at Steve. 

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” 

“Well, I do, so let’s go,” he grabs him by the arm and pulls him along. 

“Quentin!” you followed behind him, ready to argue. 

“No, you stay here,” he ordered with a pointed finger. 

“But—”

“I said in, young lady,” he pointed inside. You sigh while watching the two walk down the hall. Steve looks back with a goofy smile and a shrug. You mouth him a “sorry”. He shakes his head with a chuckle as he enters the stairwell behind your friend. 

You just hoped they didn’t kill each other out there. 

“Sooo,” Steve drawled as he stood against the wall of the apartment with Quentin a few feet away from him as if he had the plague. 

“I hate you,” Quentin deadpanned. 

Steve chuckles sadly with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Gee, I wouldn’t have guessed that.” 

Quentin clicks his tongue at him. “You know what I hate the most about you?” 

“That Y/N likes me more than you?” the blonde jests. 

“No, it’s that fake face you keep showing her.”

Steve’s brows knit in confusion. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“You know exactly what I mean,” Quentin stated, rooted in his position. “I know about guys like you. You act all sweet when you’re really not. You might have Y/N fooled but not me.”

“I swear you’re a genius,” Steve says with a roll of the eyes. He takes another long drag of his cigarette. 

Quentin’s jaw clenches tight. “I’m not playing around. There’s nothing pure and wholesome about a mobster. You guys are lower than scum.” 

Steve’s head whips towards him and he grabs a handful of Quentin’s sweater. He tugs him closer, his eyes shooting daggers at him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

Quentin stands unashamed and unafraid. His eyes are just as firm as his stance. Steve had to admit he had the guts to stand tall after insulting the kingpin. “Or what? I’m not afraid of you.” 

Steve lets go of him with a light push. “The only reason why I haven’t pounded that pretty face of yours yet is because of Y/N,” he states, pointing his finger at him. “I don’t give a shit if you hate me or not. I’m not here for you, it’s for her. I care about her.” 

Quentin snorts. “You care about Y/N?” he repeats with disbelief. “If you cared about Y/N, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Doing what?” 

“Putting a target on her head.” he dropped on Steve, making him go silent. “They’ll hurt her to get to you. Have you ever thought about that?” 

Steve exhales through his nose and his shoulders drop along with his lips. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it for a long time,” he confesses. 

Quentin can hear the clarity in his voice. Either he’s really good at lying or he’s being honest. He’d like to believe it was the first but he had a feeling it was the second.

“I asked her if she wanted to leave and she said she wanted to stay. I gave her that option. I didn’t want her to be forced into it and I will never force her into anything. When I said I cared about her I mean that. She means more to me than you'll ever understand." 

Quentin shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shakes his head. “She means a lot to me too and I just wanna make sure she’s okay,” he whispers, looking down. He kicks the sidewalk with one leg, grazing the sole of his shoe against the concrete. “She’s been through a lot. She grew up alone. She had no one and didn’t trust anyone. But she opened up to me, and I take our relationship very seriously. I love her.” 

Steve’s ears perk at the end. He turns his head to look at him. Two pairs of blue eyes catch sight of each other. One filled with worry and a slightly murderous intent. The other pair exasperated. 

“Not the way you do so don't blast my head off, I see her as a sister, alright?” he deadpans. “But I just worry for her sometimes,” he turns soft again. “She’s good at hiding how she feels and making it seem like it’s all good when it’s not. All I want—all I really want is for her to be happy and safe,” he confesses. “I don’t care if it's with your dumb ass or someone else as long as she's really happy, I'm happy." 

"You're a good guy,” Steve replies awkwardly. 

"I don't need to hear that from you." 

"Damn you're annoying,” Steve grunts. “Just take the stupid compliment will ya?" 

Quentin chuckles quietly, "Alright thanks.” 

The two men stand at the curb, each one turned slightly away from the other, watching the lifeless street quietly. The cold nips at their cheeks and begins to sink into their bones, but they don’t mind it. The strong scent of smoke from Steve's cigarette twists around the two. Quentin takes a step away. He hated the smell of smoke. It always brought back memories of when he lived with his dad. 

He wiggles his nose and rubs it with his fingers. 

“You really like her?" Quentin breaks the silence. "Like you're not doing this just to pass the time?" 

Steve chuckles with a smile. He drops his cigarette and crushes it under his shoe. 

_Thank God. _

"Would it really matter if I answered yes or no? Cause at the end of the day, you're still not gonna trust me." Quentin grumbles with an irritated expression painted on his face. 

Steve smiles at him before looking up at the night sky. Not a star in sight and yet it seemed brighter than before. 

"I've spent a lot of my time alone. I've seen a lot of people I cared for leave, some without even looking back. Some of them, not even getting the chance. And I made up my mind I didn't need anyone anymore. I'd live by myself–for myself," he looked down with a sad frown. 

Steve rarely spoke of his feelings. With the job he had, emotions were just an inconvenience. You can’t really cut a guy’s fingers off if you felt pity on his pregnant wife at home. It’s hard to do the things he did if he felt something. 

But here on the street next to a guy he barely even knew, that he hardly even liked, it felt easy. And maybe it was that uncertainty that came with a stranger that made things like this easy. He wasn’t trying to prove his worth with some heartfelt bullshit. This was real. It was raw. These were thoughts he had for the past few weeks. What he thought about on the way home from dropping you off. When he sat in his office with Lucky in his lap, and a fire crackling in the hearth. The things he was thankful for.

"But then I met Y/N, and at first I was just intrigued because she was different. Maybe ordinary to everyone else, but she stuck out to me,” he says, "And maybe at first it was just to pass the time but it turned into something more. The more I thought about her, the more I liked her. The more I wanted to know about her and become a part of her life,” he smiles softly at the ground. “Maybe I'm being selfish, but it's been so long since I've really felt something and when someone like her drops into your life–you'd be stupid not to take the chance,” he turns to look at the him. 

Quentin knows he’s being honest. He can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. 

“I don't know what's to come in the future but as of right now, everything I feel for Y/N, everything I show her is real,” he places his hand on his chest, rubbing the sweet ache in his core. His features soften and his eyes gloss over. "She makes even scum like me feel human." 

Quentin looks away, cheeks a bit red from the cold. He sighs in defeat, his hot breath vaporizing in the cold air. His facial features are hard to read, firm like a father’s, but his eyes are soft. 

"Promise me you'll keep her happy?” he asks. “That you'll never let her feel alone. She means the whole world to me and if I ever find her hurt or crying and I learn it's your fault? I'm kicking your ass to the sun." 

Steve laughs from the belly and it takes Quentin off guard. "I'm actually somewhat intimidated," Steve smiles at him for the first time that night. "you wanna job in the mob?" 

"Yeah, no thanks,” Quentin quickly denies. 

"I promise you. I'll keep her happy,” he replies with a nod. “In all honesty, I'm still trying to figure out why she likes me." 

It’s Quentin’s turn to laugh. "Trust me you're not the only one.” 

Steve lips twist into a scowl. "Jerk." 

Quentin’s lips twirl into a smile. "Asshole." 

"So it went well?” you asked Quentin with hopeful eyes. 

"Kinda,” he shrugged, plopping down onto the squeaky couch. "We uh came to an agreement.”

"And what's that?" you sat next to him. 

"Confidential,” he replies, creating a frown on your face. "Now movie time?" he asks, waving the remote. 

"Yeah," you nodded. You cuddle on the couch next to him and rest your head against his arm. He puts on a random movie on Netflix and gets comfy. 

"So you like him?" you asked, looking up at him from the side. 

"No." he deadpanned. "But I'll bear with him for you,” he chuckles quietly and turns to look down at you. 

"Yeah?" you sit up with excitement. Quentin’s lips curl into a languid smile by the way you're beaming at him. 

"Yeah." 

You hug him from the side practically toppling him over, quietly cheering to yourself. "You're great, you know that?” 

Quentin smirks. "I know,” he says nonchalantly with a smirk. 

_If you’re happy. He’s happy. _

“How’d you like the movie?” Steve asks, exiting the theater with you beside him. 

“Personally, I think there were way too many old white men in that movie,” you comment. 

Steve chuckles. “You wanted to watch it.” He tucks his hands in his coat pockets and creates a hoop with his right arm letting you slip your arm through and hold onto him. 

“I thought you’d like it,” you reply. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like Little Women.” 

“I like anything you like, sweetheart,” he grins and leans in for a peck on the lips that has your insides melting and a giggling mess.

A gentle breeze flows through your hair while walking towards Steve’s car. 

“So where to now?” you ask. 

“Wherever you want, I’m free for the rest of the day—” Steve cuts himself off when he looks up to see a man leaning against a random car. You tilt your head slightly in curiosity when he stops and catch sight of the man. He’s a bit short with a strange beard. The blonde grumbles. 

_Of all the days. _

"Tony, what the hell are you doing here?" Steve asks pointedly. "You lost or something?" 

Tony chuckles and stands straight. "Actually no, for once I'm right where I need to be,” he replies, "Spent all day looking for you. All your guys keep telling me you're busy,” he says, "And I guess I found the reason why." He chuckles, eyeing you down dangerously. Steve pulls you closer to him. 

"What d'ya want?" Steve snaps at him, sharp and firm. Tony’s eyes flit back to Steve. Two minutes and Tony had it all put together. He cocks a brow and his lips twist into the infamously famous cocky grin every man in the underworld knew all too well. 

"I'm in a bit of a bind,” Tony states smoothly, “I've also heard that you're in a little trouble." 

Steve laughs, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm fine,” he denies his statement and walks on, pulling you along with him. "See ya ‘round then,” he waves goodbye. 

Tony grabs a fistful of his coat and pulls him closer (down) to him, "Don't play stupid with me, Rogers,” he jeers, face all up in Steve’s. "I know what you did to the Gambinos and I know Hydra's after your ass." 

Again with all the names you don't understand. 

Steve keeps his composure, he looks down at Tony’s hand grabbing onto his coat, $650 dollars worth of Gucci, and looks back up at him. And you could’ve sworn you saw the other man flinch under his cold stare. "I think you forgot who you're talking to,” His voice was dangerously calm and it had shivers trickling down your spine. "Want a reminder?” 

Tony snorts, letting go of Steve with a gentle push. "C'mon you're not gonna punch me in front of your girl,” he eggs him on. 

"I mean he's done it before," You deadpanned and shrugged, returning Tony’s attention to you. 

Great. 

"Quick question. What's a pretty girl like you hangin' round this thug?" he asks. 

"Fuck off, old man,” you snarled. 

"Oh ho, she's feisty too,” he snickers. Sidestepping Steve, he stands in front of you. A bit too close for your liking. “How about you ditch blondie and spend the rest of the night with me?" he offers. He smiles wickedly, eyes clouded with shallow desire. "Come over to Manhattan, baby, you'll be seeing stars when I'm done with y–" 

_CRACK!_

Steve’s eyes grow wide and his lips part into a circle. He’s left speechless, trying to comprehend what he just saw. 

"Fuck!" Tony shouts. He hunches over in pain, covering his nose with his hands. "You broke my nose!" "You'll pay for that bitch!" 

"Look me in the eye and say that,” you hissed, fist still tight. Tony whimpers in pain, wiping the blood from his nose. Steve starts to laugh at Tony’s expense. “I fucking dare you." 

"See ya around, Tony," Steve bids him farewell. 

Steve tugs you along with him for Tony’s sake. "Wait, I'm not done with him,” you growl, taking a step back.

"Yes you are," he smiles with a tug, "Let's go for some ice cream. Gotta cool you down." 

“I’m fine.” 

“Really, baby? You’re all red,” he places his hand on your forehead with a chuckle. 

You push his hand away. “Piss off, blondie,” you stomp off towards the car. 

_Quality Mrs. Rogers Material _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, i hope you liked this chapter.  
secondly, but most importantly, thank you to everyone for waiting for me and all of the sweet messages i received over the past few weeks. It really means so much to me and I found myself going back to them every time I felt kinda sad...  
You are all beautiful and wonderful readers and I was completely blown away by all of your sweet words!. Thank you so much and I hope to keep updating this and hopefully make it engaging for everyone!
> 
> p.s. the hiatus gave me a good time to rewrite my outline and hoooo boy you don't know what I've got coming. Prepare yourselves 👀


	17. Ocean Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't going to update so fast but this came to me last night so here it is!

_ I've been watching you _

_ For some time _

_ Can't stop staring _

_ At those oceans eyes _

_ Burning cities _

_ And napalm skies _

_ Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes _

_ Your ocean eyes _

* * *

“Am I going to die?” 

Steve’s lips curve into a smile allowing a chuckle to escape his lips. 

“No, you’re not going to die,” he assures, walking past you with a few books in his hand. 

“But how do you know for sure?” you spin in the leather chair towards him. “What’s your certainty on a scale of one to ten?”

“A thousand,” he replies calmly, slipping the books in the empty spaces of the bookshelf built into the wall. 

He hears an exasperated groan from behind and turns to find you glaring. Lips pressed tight in a serious frown. The color in your eyes flickering in the shadow cast by the fire in the hearth. 

“I’m being serious.” 

Steve turns fully towards you. “And so am I.” He takes a few steps closer then leans against his desk. “No one’s gonna kill you.”

You slouch in his chair with a pout. “You don’t know that,” you mumble while playing with the drawstrings of your hoodie. 

Steve fawns at the sight of you. He stands straight then dips forwards to kiss your forehead. Your cheeks light up at the simple contact of his lips. He caresses the side of your face in his hand. A bit callous against the soft skin of your cheek. “If anyone even so much as thinks about laying a scratch on you, l promise you, there’ll be no one worse than me.”

He brushes the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone. You nodded sheepishly—speechlessly, preoccupied with the warmth in his blue eyes. You could’ve described his eyes like the ocean, iridescent and flecked with every shade of blue. 

He picks up the book he left on the desk and returns to the bookshelf. “Besides you seemed pretty confident back there.” 

“I was angry alright?” you explained. “I’m not gonna let some guy say all that and just let him get away with it.” 

“Then why are you so worried now?” Steve asked, fixing the books. There was a set order to the way he shelved his books and he hated it when they weren’t in place. 

“I don’t know,” you lifted yourself off the chair. “Maybe if it was some creep on the street I would’ve done it and not care about the consequences,” walking over, you lean against the shelf next to him. “But this isn’t some guy. He’s a gangster and one that doesn’t like you.” 

He looks over with an amused smile. “I mean what if he tries to ruin something? Like making things harder for you?” 

“Highly doubt that,” Steve chuckles, “Tony has a big mouth but he won’t do anything that’ll cause him trouble,” he returns to his shelving and hands you a book to hold for him. “And messing with the Brooklyn Mob will give him more trouble than he’d like to have.” 

You chuckle at him. “You’re rather confident in yourself.” 

He shrugs with a smug grin. “It’s what comes with being the best.” 

You gently hit him with the book in your hand making him laugh in reply. 

It’s been a while since there’s been a warmed laugh peeking out the door and echoing through the halls of the manor. It’s been empty for years. But all this time, all it really needed was one more. To warm the rooms with a soft beaming smile. To paint the walls with the color of love. To strip it of the darkness that kept its lone inhabitant bounded. 

Steve took a seat in his chair while you took a seat on his desk in front of him. Your palms curled around the edge of it as your legs dangled off, swaying back and forth. 

“Steve.” 

“Hmm?”

“So I’ve been thinking about something lately,” you said, the thump of your heart was steady but your palms were wet around the desk. 

“Oh man, that can’t be good,” he jokes. You kick his leg. He winces while rubbing it with his hand. “Have you ever heard of a joke?” 

“I’m not joking right now,” you stated. 

Steve sits back and puts his hands up. “Okay, okay, serious time now,” he nods but can’t help letting a stupid smile crawl on his lips. 

You grip on the desk loosens to dry your sticky hands. 

“I’m just thinking about some things,” you confessed. 

“Things?” 

“I mean things that we do together,” your cheeks start to heat. “We spend more time together.” 

“And you don’t want to?” 

“No, not that at all,” you replied quickly. “What I’m trying to say is. That, um, I don’t really know where we’re going with this,” you let out with a drop of the shoulders and a defeated sigh. You place your hands in your lap and start to fiddle with your fingers. “With us.” 

“Us?” His brows knitted in confusion. “You mean **us**?” 

"Yeah, _us_." 

Both of you turn silent. It’s not a surprise to either of you that there’s something more than there was before. As the days passed by, the feelings grew stronger filling you with an inner joy that you couldn’t contain. 

But no real words had been said. You didn’t doubt Steve. He was good and honest. Righteous to a fault in his own chaotic way. Some say actions speak louder than words but sometimes words are needed to create a firm foundation. You needed his word to be sure and you felt like he needed to hear yours. You were just nervous and scared. Extremely scared. 

“So like what do you want us to be?" he asked in a soft tone. It wavers ever so slightly, sounding just as nervous as yours. 

"I-I don't know,” you shake your head. “That's why I'm asking. I'm just–I'm really confused and I've never really done this before,” you confessed. There’s shame hidden behind your words and you feel embarrassed. Embarrassed enough to look away from him and back to your hands. 

"I get that,” he replies, “there's nothing wrong with that,” he shakes his head. 

"I mean it's kind of embarrassing," you mumbled, "I'm twenty-two for crying out loud." 

Steve’s smile fell. He hates that you feel that way. Especially with him. He doesn’t want you to feel ashamed or uncomfortable. He wanted to be the one that you’d trust to never judge you. He takes your hand in his and pulls you into his lap. His hands hug the sides of your curves to pull you closer, making your legs straddle his hips. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him, and the blush on your cheeks reaches the tips of your ears by it all.

"Yeah, you're twenty-two, so what?” he asks. “There's no time card telling you when it's time for you to have a boyfriend or whatever else that's expected as normal. Do things at your own pace. No one's rushing you, sweetheart. Do what makes you happy and comfortable," he fingers weave into yours and squeezes your hand a bit. "I don't really care what we are as long as we’re together." 

His words are unconditional. There’s no wager or penalty. It’s not the freedom that has you so moved. It’s the willingness behind his words. He wants to be with you and it didn’t matter in what way it was. It’s not for show or out of duty. He just wants you for you; and it’s something you don’t really understand. What made you so special that he wanted you? He had the world in his hand, so what did he find in you that made him need you? 

Going from the one that was discarded with a passing eye to being the apple of someone’s eye was too hard for you to believe. It seemed impossible. 

But Steve Rogers had a way of making the impossible possible. Piece by piece, he's chipped away at the stone walls you've built around your heart just enough so he can squeeze inside and pull on the strings that bind your heart, letting it unravel for him. 

He's making you fall faster than you'd like to, but it's something you want, something you need. The need for him and all the things he's willing to give you comes out in a way you wished it didn’t. It bubbles at the corner of your eyes in silvery tears. Ones that were only cried beneath what the world can see. 

It takes courage to break noses and punch mobsters, but this was the mark of valor. The bravest thing you’ve ever done was to show him those tears. The ones that eyes miss but love renders visible. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, cupping your face in his hands, wiping the tears before they fall too far. You look into his eyes. Those same damn eyes that pulled you too far into the water. That had you swept away with foaming blue currents. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head with a small smile, “I just hate you sometimes.” 

A laugh bubbles from his chest that has you smiling. You hit his chest softly with an annoyed chuckle. 

He takes your hands in his and brushes your knuckles with the pads of his thumbs. He looks up to you through long lashes as if he’s looking deep into your soul. He sports a sheepish, boyish, grin that has you melting. 

"Be my girl?" he asks. 

It’s simple and soft and comes out in a whisper as if it’s a secret that only the two you can keep. But it has you beaming from ear to ear and your heart aching, swelling and pressing against its calcified confines. 

You nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

His expression mirrors your own as he pulls you closer until your lips land on his in a searing kiss. His thick hands hold you tight around the curve of your waist as your hand travels up the length of his arm and comes to caress his cheek. 

You part from him to catch a breath and it has him chasing your lips for more. A giggle slips out of your mouth leaving him red and embarrassed. Your thumb brushes against his cheek as you look into his eyes. 

His delicate blue eyes reminded you of the ocean. And you found yourself happily falling headfirst. Every time. Drifting along with him in your ocean.

* * *

_No fair_

_ You really know how to make me cry _

_ When you gimme those ocean eyes _

_ I'm scared _

_ I've never fallen from quite this high _

_ Falling into your ocean eyes _

_ Those ocean eyes _


	18. The Truth's Out

“Red or black?” you asked, showing two of the dresses you picked out. 

“Just pick any,” Steve grumbles, leaning on the clothes rack. His expression holds exaggerated exhaustion that had you rolling your eyes. 

Your arms drop to your side and you give him the meanest glare he’s seen in two months. A lazy smile tugs at his lips. 

It’s true. You’ve been dating for two whole months and even celebrated your two month anniversary two weeks ago. You thought it was stupid to celebrate, believing that it should’ve been a more memorable milestone. A year or five. Even six months was considered more important than two. But if Steve put his mind to something, he did it. So he took -_ dragged _\- you to a fancy restaurant in the Upper East and bought you the prettiest Valentino crossbody with a price tag that had you gaping. 

_"I feel like I'm your sugar baby," you muttered, holding the clutch in your hand. Your fingers slide along the tan leather of the rock stud bag. It feels uncomfortable, solely because you’ve never held something so expensive in your hands. _

_Without a doubt, you loved the gift. You had a weakness for designer items. Although you’ve never bought anything even close to it, that didn’t stop you from drooling while scrolling on websites just to admire the latest trends and cry at the prices. _

_"You're my girlfriend," Steve corrects, eyes glued to the street as he drives. "And if I don't spoil my girl, who will?" _

_You open your mouth to say something snarky but he cuts you off._

_"And I won't let anyone else so don't get any ideas,” he deadpans. _

_You laugh, then lean over and hug him from the side. You pressed your lips against his cheek and mushed the other side of his face with your hand. Steve tries his best to keep the car straight on the road, but you’re not helping. _

_“If I crash this car, it will be your fault.” _

“You're no help," you complain, “You came to help.” 

Steve stood up straight and pointed up. “Actually, I came to spend time with you,” he said, "Cause I haven't seen you in a week.”

You frown, feeling guilty. "I had a busy week,” you explained, “I had back-to-back shifts and three exams."

"So that's why I'm here trying to spend time with you,” he assures with a smile. 

“You are spending time with me!” 

“This wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

“Fine," you pouted, "I’ll help myself,” you stated, turning over to the mirror on the wall. You placed the red dress in front of you and then the black while deep in thought. 

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Babe, just pick the one you like the most.” 

“That’s the thing," you turn over to him, "I like both! But I don’t know which one would look better on me.”

Steve shrugs. “I think you’d look good in both.” 

You give him a half frown. “You’re just saying that so we can leave.” 

“Maybe," he shrugs again. Maybe not.” 

“Maybe I’ll try them on and see which one looks better," you conclude, hanging them over one arm. 

Steve sighs and places his hands on his hips in defeat. “If it means we’ll be able to leave faster, then go for it," he points towards the rooms. 

You chuckle at his frustration while making your way to the changing rooms. You walk into an empty stall and slide the curtain behind you. Steve waits outside, his back leaning against the wall. 

He observes the others in the store. Teenage girls gossiped and giggled while traversing through the maze of clothing racks with ease. Employees were scattered throughout the store, looking like Death himself with the average Karen sneakily approaching them for some outrageous request.

The kingpin was a force to be reckoned with. A six-foot force with bulging muscles and unmatched skill in strategy and combat, to be exact. And yet, a simple shopping trip had him whining like a child. 

Steve bangs his head against the wall with a grunt. He's been here too long, and he's craving for something sweet. 

He knocks on the wall. “How long is this going to take? You’ve been in there for an hour," he exaggerates. 

The sound of metal rings sliding along the rod makes him turn, only to pause the minute his eyes fall on you. 

The [ruby-colored dress](https://66.media.tumblr.com/5abc309dc4a38c3a0c87bcbc8d7ca014/15edc7863671dfac-9f/s400x600/c21543a6b394469d39b651b4058b453fc95658cb.jpg) hugs against the curves of your figure and falls just above the knee. Your upper chest is bare besides for the spaghetti straps running over your collarbones and the cowl neck giving a teaser of your cleavage. 

His jaw goes slack, leaving his mouth open in awe. 

"How do I look?" You ask, turning from side to side to give him a full view. 

_Steve.exe has stopped working. _

“Amazing. Gorgeous. Show-stopping. Extraordinary," he spews one out after the other. 

“You sound like a creep," you chuckle at him before turning towards the mirror inside the room. 

Steve smiles wickedly and wraps his arms around your waist from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“Babe, you look absolutely stunning," he says, blues eyes piercing at you from the reflection of the mirror. 

His grip around your waist grows tighter as he nuzzles his nose on the side of your neck. He plants kisses along the curve of your neck and it has shivers zipping down your spine. 

“Steve!” you turn slightly towards him and give him a slap on the chest. “People are watching!” you scold him. 

He chuckles against you, his hot breath tickling the bare skin of your shoulder. “I don’t care. I don’t know ‘em," he replies. 

“Should I try the other one?” you ask. 

“Nah, forget about it. This dress was made for you,' he assures. "C'mon let's get outta here," he pulls you along. 

"Let me change first!” 

Pietro lets out a deep, prolonged sigh. With his face propped up in his hand, he lazily mixes his smoothie with the straw and looks blankly at the masses in the food court. 

“What’s wrong?” Vision asks, taking a slurp of his own smoothie. 

“Just bored, Viz,” he sighs again. 

Vision checks the time on his wristwatch. “I’m sure Wanda will be back soon.” 

“I was speaking in general,” Pietro explains. “And forget about her coming back soon. That never happens.” 

“Then why are you so bored?” Vision questions, leaning forward in his chair. 

Pietro shrugs, then swipes a hand through his hair. His hand stays in his hair, and he tugs on it hard. “Nothing’s happening. I need some action, ya know?” he turns to the pale-skinned boy in front of him. He sits up and lifts his hands in an animated motion. “I need some fire. Some destruction!” 

“Or maybe you just need a job,” Vision deadpans. 

Pietro’s lips fall into a pout. “I have a job,” he retorts. 

“I’m talking about a real job.” 

“I have a real job!”

“Being an information broker isn’t a real job,” Vision replies. “You just like to gossip.” 

“I get paid for my gossip,” Pietro grumbles. “So it’s a job.”

“And that’s why you are on the brink of being homeless,” Vision smirks mockingly.

Pietro huffs, then rests his chin on the table. “Things have been slow lately. No one’s cheating on their girlfriend or pulling someone’s eyeballs out, so I’ve got nothing to work with here,” he complains. 

“Then why don’t you get a real job?” the other boy suggests. “And stop leeching off of Wanda.”

Pietro whips up again and points at Vision. “You know what, Viz—,” he cuts himself off when he notices a familiar yet unfamiliar face walking by. Pietro’s face lights up in a split second, making Vision raise a brow. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the kingpin,” he snickers. 

“The who?”

Pietro looks back at Vision. “The kingpin, moron! You’re such a smart guy and you don’t even know who Steve Rogers is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Hell yeah, ya heard of him. The guy’s loaded,” Pietro exclaims. He raises a brow in question when his eyes catch you holding Steve’s hand. “But who’s that girl with him?”

Vision squints at the two. “I know of her,” he replies. “She’s a friend of Wanda’s. They work together. I think her name’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N, huh?” Pietro smiles, pulling out his phone. 

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Pietro leans over the entire table, bringing his phone to Vision’s end. He zooms in as much as he can. 

_God bless the iPhone 11 Pro Max. _

He takes a few pictures of the two. 

“Stop that, we’re in public!” Vision exclaims quietly. “This is so wrong on so many levels!”

Pietro looks up at him before taking another picture. “I’m doing my job, Viz, just like you told me to,” he replies with a smug grin. 

“You’re going to get killed and get me killed for associating with you.” Pietro takes a few more pictures of the passing couple. Vision covers the camera with his hand. “Stop that!” 

Pietro clicks his tongue before pulling back. He checks the photos one by one and smiles. 

_Hell yeah, 4k baby. _

“Delete those right now!” 

He looks up at him with a grimace. “No,” he states flatly, before returning to his phone. 

“Think about your poor sister, will you?” Vision tries to play the empathy card. “If the kingpin finds out you took pictures of him unknowingly, he’ll have your neck.” 

Pietro stands up. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, buddy, nothing’s going to happen,” he smirks while passing him, patting him on the shoulder as he does. 

“Where the hell are you going now?” 

“Just going to go have a little fun,” he replies, “Tell Wanda I’ll call her later.” 

Vision sends him off with a disappointed shake of the head that Pietro didn’t seem to care about. He swipes through the photos, then stops at one. He zooms in just enough to see the kingpin sneak a little kiss with his girl. He swipes to the next picture. It’s one of you looking up at Steve, smiling, red-cheeked and heart-eyed. His eyes linger on you for a while. A wicked smile tugs at his lips and reaches the tips of his ears. 

“You’re gonna make me rich, sweetheart.” 

You yawned while skipping up the stairs of the subway into the warmth of the sun with heavy footsteps and heavier eyelids

Take early morning classes, you told yourself. It’d be easy, you said. 

LIES. ALL YOU EVER DID WAS LIE TO YOURSELF. 

You stray from the rest of the crowd, taking your daily shortcut to the science building. It was an old alleyway that led to a loading center right behind the university. It was a better route than being battered in the masses of the main street. Not to mention it gave you an extra ten minutes before class to pick up a coffee. 

Sure it was a bit sketchy, but who’d be stupid enough to mug you in broad daylight? 

"What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a street like this?" a gruff voice comes from your left. 

You just _had_ to ask. 

Raucous and obscene fits of laughter erupt within the narrow alleyway. You walk on, your strides growing wider, without paying them any mind. 

The man throws his cigarette to the ground and stomps on it. He takes two wide steps towards you and turns you around by the shoulder. “Hey, princess, it ain’t polite to ignore people.” 

"Don't touch me,” you shake his hand off your elbow. 

The brute raises a brow. “I’ve seen your face somewhere,” he states, “You’re the kingpin’s whore,” he grins wickedly.You froze when the words left his tongue, eyes softening into fear. He grabs you by the wrist as his friends start to surround you. It feels like you’re a rabbit in the middle of a pack of wolves. 

“Yeah, it’s her alright,” another pipes up, “she’s all over the news.”

_News? What news?!?! _

The one holding onto your arm pulls you roughly towards him, snickering. "How about we have a little fun?" he teases. 

You try your best to twist your way out of his grasp with your free hand, but another man comes and yanks on your hand hard. Your head whips towards him, heart beating rapidly at the thought of what they’d do to you in the hidden alley. 

He smiles at you, letting the silver in his teeth shine in the sun. 

"C'mon baby, we’ll play nice,” he cooes, his face in your face. You squirm away from him, but he tugs you closer. "What? Not good enough for ya? A night with the king got you high up in the air? Don't get so full of yourself. You're nothing but his slut." 

"Let me go!" you shout with a hope that someone would hear. But let’s face it. This is New York. Even if someone _could_ hear you, they wouldn’t come to help you. 

"Thing is, I got a little beef with the big guy,” he growls, digging into his pocket and taking out a switchblade. Your eyes grow wide at the sight of the sharp blade. “Since I can't get to him,” he brings the blade to your chin, “I'll settle with you." 

Swinging your leg as hard as you can, you kick the silver toothed man hard in the groin. You feel a sharp stinging on the side of your face as he drops the blade and shouts a curse in pain.

Now with a free hand, you go straight for the man holding the other and punch him directly in the jaw. He lets go and grumbles holding the face in his hand. 

The rest of the crew stood silent, completely stunned by the quick turn of events. You take it as a moment to flee. Turning on your heel, you dash down the alley as fast as you can. 

"Don't let her get away!" You hear one of them shout behind you. 

You turn around the corner, opposite in the direction of school. You’re not thinking, you’re just running. Everything in your mind is a big blur. It’s just one foot in front of the other in an attempt to widen the gap between you and them. 

Your breaths came in small spurts, hot and nervous. Your fingers are balled tightly into fists, swinging back and forth as if it’d make you run faster. Your lungs and heart are pumping, but the air doesn’t seem to be enough as you sprinted forward, panic trembling in your exhausted limbs. 

Your eyes were shut tight, trying to keep your sanity at bay. It’s all a bit too familiar. The rush of adrenaline and the fear of getting caught. It takes you back to a memory you buried six feet under. 

Their heavy pants and growling curses mingle with the words that echo in your head. His voice rings in your ear, like he’s the one chasing you. 

_“You can run all you want, kid, but in the end you’ll come right back here! Right back to me.” _

You turn around another corner to find trash cans lining the wall. You push them over, letting them topple to the floor, creating a pathetic excuse of an obstacle. But it works. It slows them down just enough for you to turn around the corner of another alleyway.

You run down the path, speed constant, and notice the sound of their jeers growing distant. But even so, you keep running until you reach the main street. Only stopping when you hear tires screeching along the asphalt of the street. 

You freeze in front of the car, the bumper just inches away from your body. The door opens and Steve quickly gets out and his friends follow. His hair is a mess and his clothes too casual than his normal attire. 

You swallow deep when his eyes meet yours. “Y/N,” he calls with a breathy pant. 

Tears start to bubble at the corner of your eyes. All of the confusion and fear finally starts to sink in, but you’re trying your best to keep it all in. The slam of the door behind him was the little push you needed to let go. 

“Steve,” you mumble, meeting him halfway. 

Your face slams into his chest, hugging him tight. His arms wrapped around you create a safe haven. The scent of a day’s old cologne and cigarettes feels just right. The relaxed beat of his heart against your ear calms your tense nerves. But it was the press of his lips against your forehead that really brought you home with a warm welcome. 

“You’re late,” you mutter against him. 

“Sorry, Monday morning traffic is killer,” his voice rumbles against the side of your face. You can hear the smile in his words. 

You look up at him with a small smile. He wipes the wet smears around your eyes, keeping your face in his hands. 

“Bad day?” 

“It’s Monday, what do you expect?” 

He chuckles softly, “Point made,” his thumb brushes against the scrape running along your chin. 

“Steve, did you see–?” 

"I saw 'em." he answers. 

"What's gonna happen now?" 

“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out,” he assures, “but first let me find the bastards that did this to you.” 

“This?” you pointed at the cut, “this is nothing. Really.”

“It is something,” he replies firmly. 

“But it’s nothing to worry about.” 

“Well I’m worrying anyway.” 

"Hey, Y/N, you okay?" Peter asks sweetly. 

You smile at him. God, this kid. Where has he been? You’ve been missing him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” you teased. 

“I’m twenty-years-old!” he exclaims with a pout, earning a chuckle from you. 

Your new friends run down the alley and out onto the street. They freeze at the sight of the mob boss towering over them in all his majestic glory. Steve’s jaw ticks and his eyes fall on them with a murderous intent. Their beady eyes divert to you, hidden in the kingpin’s embrace, but don’t linger for long. They’ve pissed off the guy enough as it is, ogling his girl would just make it worse. 

“Well if it isn’t a bunch of rats,” Bucky sneers with a chuckle and Peter mimics him. 

“Hey, Sammy, do me a favor and go break some bones.” Steve orders. 

“But I thought you said—”

“This is an exception,” Steve interrupts with a chuckle. “Go have some fun.” 

“Yes!” Bucky pumps his fist. “Finally! My bones are getting rusty,” he stretches his legs and arms. 

“That may just be because you’re old.” 

“Shut up, Pete, or I’ll beat your ass first,” Bucky snaps at him, “All right ladies, let’s get into formation,” he claps. 

“You are not Beyonce, you can’t say that,” Sam deadpans. 

Bucky whips his long brown locks with his hand. “No, I’m Bucky with the good hair.” 

“It’s official, I hate you,” Sam groans, “Hey, where the fuck do you think you're going?" He pulls the silver-toothed man back by the collar. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Steve turns you around before Sam punches the man’s teeth out and leads you to the car. 

It takes everything in your willpower to not look back. You can hear it all. Heavy punches and deep grunts. Strained curses and feet scuffling on the concrete. 

And it makes you wonder. Despite all that had happened. Was it really all right for them to take the law into their own hands? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, hi, 👋 so i'm guessing we've all been quarantined in one way or another 🤣   
I have online school now which is kind of strange but hey, it is what it is 🤷🏽♀️   
I hope you are all doing well and are healthy and safe! Take care of yourself lovelies and I wish you all the best through these hard times!   
Since I have a bit more time now I hope to chug out as many chapters I can but we'll see how that goes :)   
Stay safe and WASH YOUR HANDS.


	19. An Eye for An Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Light Gore & Mentions of Child Abuse

You hiss at first contact with the alcohol wipe against your chin. 

“It’s deeper than it looks,” Steve stated, gently dabbing at the dried blood.

“Can you not press on it so hard?” 

“I gotta clean it, babe, or it’ll get worse,” he replies, his motions growing faster.

“But it hurts,” you whine. 

Steve rolls his eyes affectionately. “What are you two or twenty-two?”

“Don’t sass me, Rogers,” you warn him with a lovely pout. 

He chuckles in reply. “I wouldn’t even dare.” 

He throws the stained wipe into the trash bin and begins searching through the box of bandaids for a size suitable to cover the wound. 

Your eyes fall onto the newspaper, left on his desk in a hurry, and frowned.

“They’ve painted me as if I’m some whore,” you said. “Like I’m your mistress or something.” 

Steve stops his searching and frowns. “You know that’s not true,” he shakes his head. 

“I know,” you mumbled, “but the rest of the world doesn’t know that.” 

He lifts your chin with his hand. “Hey, don’t worry, alright? I’ll fix this,” he assures. “Everything’s gonna be fine and as time passes it’ll pass as well.” 

You smile with a nod, believing in him. 

“Quentin called,” you told him. 

Steve groans audibly, ripping the band-aid open. 

“He says, he’s going to break your pretty nose if he ever sees you again,” you informed him with a smug grin. 

He shakes his head in amusement. “Is my nose really that pretty?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “I think it’s kinda cute.” 

“I’ll make sure to never run into him again,” he pledges, aligning the bandage with the cut on your jaw. “Still don’t get why he hates me so much.”

“I think it has something to do with stealing away his best friend.” 

He shrugs his arms smugly. “Not my fault, he should’ve done a better job at keeping watch. Did he really think I was gonna let a girl as pretty as her slip out of my fingers?”

You punch him lightly on the chest. “You flatter me, really.” 

His chuckles fill the air as he presses his palms to either side of your seat on his desk and leans in close. “It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he crooned. 

You fall shy by his words, but not shy enough to not return his affection with a sweet kiss on the lips. You part from him and it leaves him hungry for more. He cups the side of your face in his hand and pulls you closer for another kiss. He stops when he hears his phone ring. 

He pulls it out of his pocket to find a message from Natasha. 

_Found something. You know where to find me._

Steve’s jaw tightens as he slips the phone back into his pocket. He gives you an easy smile then a kiss. 

“I’ve gotta go,” he grabs his jacket off the chair by the fire. 

“Where are you going?” you asked, getting off his desk. 

“Nowhere, just some unfinished business,” he puts his jacket on while making his way to the front door. “I’ll be back soon.” 

Before he leaves he turns to you and takes your hands in his. 

“I want you to stay here until I figure things out. Do me a favor and try to relax?” he suggests, “It’s been a long day. Watch a movie and empty my fridge if you’d like.” 

You laugh at his words. “You act like I won’t do that already.” 

He opens the door behind him. “I’ll see you later.” 

Just before he leaves, you reach up and give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Be safe.”

It was dusk by the time Steve reached the warehouse in the Bronx. Parking his car, he walks out to find Natasha waiting for him at the door. 

She gives him her signature smirk and a wave as he walks up to her. 

“How is Y/N?” she asks, entering the desolate building. 

“She’s fine,” Steve informs. "Just a bit tired." 

Nat shoots a devilish grin in his direction. "I see you two have been getting along rather nicely,” she teases, "compared to before that is." 

"I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with her being my girlfriend now?” he retorts with a playful lilt to his voice. 

Nat shrugs indifferently and shakes her head. “Still don’t know how you managed to do it,” she cackled. "Personally, I find you unappealing,” she deadpans, opening the door to a room. "but hey? There’s someone for everyone. Am I right?" 

Steve sighs deeply as he enters. "Some days you can be such a jerk." 

The room is sparse with nothing more than a single light hanging from the ceiling and a man tied to a chair in the center. He twists and turns in his chair, shouting incoherent words that were muffled by the duct tape plastered along his lips. 

She chortles at his remark. "I feel like you wanted to use a much stronger word." 

Steve smirks at the sight before him then turns to Natasha with a dashing smile. 

"I’m a gentleman, Natasha, and I treat women with respect." 

She rolls her eyes. "As charming as ever, Rogers,” she replies, yanking the tape of the man’s mouth mercilessly. His face stretches in pain from the sudden burn on his skin. 

"YOU ASSHOLES HAD ME TIED UP IN A WAREHOUSE FOR FIVE HOURS,” Pietro shouts at the two. 

Steve laughs heartily before taking his jacket off. 

Natasha brings her hands together. “Now that we’re all here. I suggest we get started,” she proposes, her skin glowing with excitement. This was her favorite part of being in the mob. 

"Ladies first,” Steve motions towards her and then to Pietro. 

"Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Natasha,” she introduces herself to Pietro. 

"I know who you are,” he snarls at her. He looks up at Steve fearlessly. "You’re the kingpin." 

"My friend and I would like to talk to you about your crimes against the Brooklyn Mob,” Natasha states. 

Pietro looks at them as if they’re crazy. He whips his head back and forth between the two like a mad man.

"Crimes? Against the Brooklyn Mob? You’ve gotta be fucking joking me!” he shouts "Let me go! I did nothing wrong!” He shakes violently in his chair. 

The two ignore his cries and continue. 

“Number One: Defamation of Character,” Natasha states. 

"I hope you’ve realized this but my "mistress” isn’t a mistress,” Steve informs Pietro, rolling up his sleeves so he doesn’t get them dirty. He looks down at Pietro and his jaw tightens at the sight of him. He feels like ripping the boy’s head off. 

Pietro gulps involuntarily at his words. He knows he’s not going to get out of this one. His eyes boldly meet Steve’s but fall quickly. “She’s my girlfriend and a top student at Columbia. So your garbage publication can be rather damaging for her future,” he jeers. 

“I didn’t write the article!” Pietro explains. “I just gave the information!" 

"To who?” Steve takes a step closer to him. 

“I don’t know who he was,” he shakes his head. "I met him at some bar. I swear. I didn’t do anything,” he rambles frantically. 

"I want a name, now,” Steve grits. 

"I don’t remember his name,” Pietro repeats harshly. 

Steve’s fist connects with Pietro’s jaw. He groans from the pain. Without a warning, Steve punches him again, this time in the center of his face, then another at his left. 

Blood pools inside of Pietro’s mouth as he sees stars in his vision.

"Stop!” he groans, “I think–I think it was Strucker,” he wails. "He’s this bald guy with a scar on his face. I didn’t know he would blow it up like this." 

Steve turns to Natasha and asks her a question with his eyes. 

_You know who he’s talking about?_

She shakes her head then continues. 

"Two: Obstruction of Privacy." 

"You had the gall to take pictures of us and spread them all over the city,” Steve barked, slamming his fist straight into his nose. 

The sharp sound of cracking bone bounces off the walls of the room. The only one that winces is Pietro himself. His head drops forward and he takes painfully heavy breaths, his mind spinning from all the blows. 

“Three: Exploitation." 

Steve holds his chin and yanks him forward harshly. Pietro whimpers in his grasp. Blood drips from the corner of his busted lip. Splotches of purple and blue cover his once clear pale skin. 

"You used my girl for a bit of extra cash,” Steve growls at him. “You put her on the map for everyone to see. How does it feel knowing you’ve put an innocent woman in danger?” 

Pietro looks at the kingpin through half-lidded eyes. His lips form a weak smile and it only pisses Steve off more. “Did you really think you could keep her hidden forever?” he drawls, “If I didn’t do it, someone else would.” 

Steve pushes him back. “And now that you have, I think you deserve retribution for your services.” 

Nat takes a step forward. She takes his bruised face into her hand and turns it left to right, examining Steve’s work. She stands straight and makes her edict. "After being found guilty by the representative of the mob, I allow Mr. Rogers to do with you as he pleases." 

Steve smiles wickedly. He kicks Pietro’s chair and it hits the wall, keeping him at a slant. 

"Wait! Stop!” He fights against his restraints as Steve hovers over him. “I’m sorry!" 

"You know what they say,” Steve said, tongue dripping with venom, eyes red like a demon’s. 

“An eye for an eye." 

Steve shuffles quietly in the garage, toeing off his shoes, he enters the house and heads straight for the laundry room. 

He takes off his bloodied shirt, throws it in the hamper, and grabs a fresh one from the closet of the room. Pulling it on, he exits the room and glides along the marble tiles of the manor. 

He follows the sounds of low murmurs and flashing lights of the television coming from the living room. The image he finds is more than endearing. You’re snuggled deep into the couch with Lucky digging into your side and a blanket over the both of you. 

Steve walks over, mindful to keep his movements quiet. He turns off the television then lifts the blanket gently. Lucky jolts quickly, growling lowly at the dark figured man. 

Steve chuckled quietly, calming the dog down. “Shh, Lucky, it’s just me,” he scratches the fur around his chin. The puppy yips quietly and jumps off the couch. “Good boy.” 

Steve slid his arms underneath you and took you into his arms. Lucky follows closely behind him as he walks out of the room and up the stairs. Moonlight streams through the grand windows that run along the curve of the grand staircase, casting a nightly shade onto your sleeping form. 

He walks into one of the many spare rooms and tries to lift the blankets to put you in. “Sorry for manhandling you,” he whispers while gently placing you on the bed. Lucky hops onto the bed from the other side and takes his spot next to you. 

“What about me?” Steve whined. 

Lucky simply shimmies closer to you, making Steve grunt indignantly. 

“Some “man’s best friend” you are.” 

_Your footsteps grow heavy with every step up the stairs towards the house. Reciting a silent prayer, you open the squeaking front door and walk inside. _

_Your lips curl into a grin when you find the living room empty. You tiptoe your way up the stairs to your room. _

_“Where have you been?” _

_A gruff, mean voice comes from behind you, making you stop in your tracks. You turn around slowly, heartbeat steadily increasing. _

_Your father stands at the end of the stairs. A can of beer in one hand with the other holding onto the banister. His hair was messy, his flannel shirt unbuttoned to show his white undershirt underneath. Paint stained his washed-out blue jeans along with his boots. He lifts a brow at you, expecting an answer. _

_“I-I missed the bus today,” you explained. “So I had to walk.” _

_“Bullshit,” he growls.“You’re lying to me, aren’t you? You think you can fool me?” he barks, throwing the can away. _

_Your eyes shut tight at the sound of the metal rattling against the floor. _

_“I’m telling the truth,” you insisted, body shaking under his icy gaze. He pulls you down the steps roughly by the arm. You almost slip by the way he tugs on your arm. _

_“You were with that boy again, weren’t you?” he asked, slamming you against the wall. _

_“I wasn’t,” you shake your head, eyes plagued with fear. _

_“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?” he scolded. _

_“But he’s my friend,” you whimper under him. _

_“You don’t need friends,” he hurls. The thick smell of cheap beer lingers in his mouth. “You don’t need anyone.” His grip on your wrist grows tighter._

_You tug at his hand over yours, tears brimming at the edge of your eyes. “Please stop,” you choke out, “It hurts.” _

_He takes your face into his hand and brings it close to his. “Listen here, you little bitch, when I tell you to come home on time. I mean on time,” he spat, “If I ever find you late again or with that boy, I will not be nice.” _

_Your jaw tightens to keep yourself from screaming as tears start to stream down your cheeks. Your eyes part from his and catch the opened front door, tempting you to make a risky decision. You weren’t bold enough to retaliate against him. But with freedom only a few feet away, you had to take a chance. _

_You bite the hand holding your face making him curse in pain and dash towards the door. Only to be pulled back by your backpack. _

_“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he barks, veins popping out of his skin. “You think you can get away?” he turns you around and shakes you violently. His face was red and all up in yours. “You can try running away all you want, but in the end, you’re coming right back to me,” he grits, emphasizing each word. “No matter where you go, I will find you!” _

You jolt quickly in bed, heaving deep breaths. You rub your face with your hands and sit still, trying to take even breaths to calm the rapid beat of your heart. 

_It was just a dream. _

_He’s gone. _

_He’s not coming back. _

A soft whimper rises from your left and you turn to find Lucky by your side You smile at him and cup his face into your hands. “I’m fine, buddy.” You slip out of the bed and motion him to follow you. 

“Let’s go find, Stevie,” you whisper, opening the door and walking into the hall. Your footsteps are soft, careful to not make the floorboards creak. They don’t do that in this house and even if they did no one would yell at you for it, but habits are hard to forget. 

You open the door to Steve’s room slowly, hoping it wouldn’t wake him. Tiptoeing your way over to his sleeping form, you gently tap his arm. 

"Steve,” you whisper, shaking his arm. “Steve?" 

His eyes flutter open. "Huh?” he whispers groggily, propping himself up with his elbow. “Y/N, is everything all right?" 

You tug and twist the end of your shirt, completely red. "Is it okay, if I sleep with you?” you asked, “I-I don’t want to be alone right now. It’s just this house is too big and—” 

"I don’t mind.” he smiles with sleepy eyes. 

You smile before running over to the other side of the bed and getting under the covers. You scoot over to him, closer than he was expecting, and snuggle deep into his side. A light blush forms on his cheeks and he’s thankful that the room is dark. You take his free arm and wrap it around yourself. 

“Good night,” you mumble against his shoulder. 

He chuckles, getting himself comfortable, lips brushing against your forehead. “Sweet dreams,” he wishes before pressing a soft kiss to your head. 

The rest of your dreams that night were far sweeter than most others. 


	20. What Comes Around Goes Around

Peggy’s fingers curled around the porcelain teacup, delicately crafted with intricate designs, and brought it to her lips. The cool breeze of a vanishing winter sweeps through her curled auburn locks and fires goosebumps along the bare skin of her arms. Despite the cool temperature of a London morning, the sun shines freely above her, casting its rays upon her as she sits on the balcony of her penthouse. 

She takes a sip of her tea then places it back on the table beside her, eyes glued to the novel in her hand. She turns the page and her head follows. A knock comes against the glass of the balcony door making her curls bounce as she turns to see who it is. 

Dottie gives her a smile, prim and proper. Peggy replies with a roll of the eyes and returns to her book. 

Dottie only came when she had a job to give. 

“Please tell me you didn’t break my door down this time,” Peggy sighs. 

“I have a key, remember?” Dottie chuckles. She takes a seat across from her unasked. 

“You mean the one you stole from me?” Peggy mused. 

“No, the one you gave me,” Dottie retorts tiredly, discouraging Peggy from furthering her teasing. 

Peggy huffs but doesn’t say another word. Dottie digs her hand into her bag and pulls out her phone. 

"I've found something I think you would be interested in,” she smirks, unlocking and scrolling through the news. 

Peggy raises a brow at Dottie. She hands her the phone and Peggy’s lips curve up almost instantly. 

"I haven't seen this pretty face in a while,” she chuckles. 

Her eyes scan the picture. Angular cheekbones. Bright blue eyes. Golden hair. A sharp jawline. A body chiseled by the gods. 

Cameras couldn’t capture his essence. 

Her eyes flit towards the girl wrapped in his arms. "And who's this?" 

She reads the headline. 

A whore. 

"Apparently, the headlines are an exaggeration,” Dottie informs, “She's his girlfriend." 

Peggy looks up at her incredulously. "His girlfriend?" she repeats with disbelief.

"Jealous?" Dottie asks with a wicked grin, propping her chin up in her hand. 

Peggy scoffs, her eyes returning to the girl. She takes another sip of her tea. 

The taste had turned bitter.

"What is there to be jealous about?" 

Dottie shrugs. "Appearance-wise she's rather plain,” she says flatly, "I was just alluding to the fact that Steve Rogers has moved on from you. You're no longer the apple of his eye.”

She speaks with emphasis to each word, slowly as if trying to rub it in her face. 

"I don't need a man to know my worth,” Peggy retorts sternly, eyes burning at Dottie. 

"But Rogers is one that you particularly enjoyed,” Dottie replies boldly, only because she knows she’s right.

Peggy’s lips waver and her gaze falls from Dottie and back onto the screen. "He was different from the others,” she murmurs softly. 

Dottie smiles triumphantly. She sits back in her seat and clasps her hands together. “The real reason I’m here is to give you a job.” 

“I had a good feeling,” she sighs, “can’t you ever come over for some tea instead?” 

“You never invite me.”

“You have a key.” 

“The boss needs your help,” Dottie states. “He needs you in New York.” 

Peggy smiles at her and then at the phone in her hand, eyes lingering at the snapshot of a sweet kiss between young lovers. 

“How convenient.” 

“For the billionth time, Steve, I’m going to be fine,” you groaned. 

“Are you sure?” he asks again and you’re ready to snap his neck. “Why not take the day off?” 

“I’ve taken two days off!” you exclaimed, “I have bills to pay!” 

Steve huffs and falls back into the driver's seat of the car. He crosses his arms like a pouty child. 

You turn in your seat so you’re facing him. “Have some faith in me?” you asked, “I mean what’s the worst that could happen?” 

Steve’s head turns to you with a knowing look making you turn away from him. 

There’s a lot that can happen now that the entirety of New York knew who you were. Every step you took, every move you made had to be taken with precaution. There’s no telling of what could be behind you or in front, of where your life was going to go from here on out. 

The future has always been uncertain, but now, it was ominous. You weren’t afraid per se. It was bound to happen someday. You just weren’t ready for it. And you had a feeling you could say that for the both of you. 

“Maybe you should just move in with me,” Steve says. 

“What?” you whip your head towards him, red tinting your cheeks. 

He shrugs, a little blush covering his own. “Then you wouldn’t have to work. You’d just have to worry about school and that’s it.” 

You smile and chuckle a little. “That’s really thoughtful of you, but I’m fine, really,” you reply, taking his free hand in yours. “Things are going to be different now, but I don’t want that to change the norm. I’d rather think of it as more of a minor inconvenience.” 

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “You really are something else. Most people would start freaking out.” 

You smirk pompously. “I guess I’m not like most people.” 

He brings your hand to his lips. “No, I guess you aren’t.” 

Leaning over, you give him a kiss but part too quickly for his liking. He frowns as you pick up your bag. 

“I should go,” you open the door. 

He tugs you by the hand. “Listen, if anything happens you call me and if I don’t pick up call—”

“Call Bucky,” you recite with a sigh. “And if he won’t pick up. Call Sam. Or Nat. Or Peter,” you list on your fingers. “Honestly, I’ll be dead by then.” 

“Y/N,” he says sternly. 

“It’s a joke,” you retort. “Ever heard of one?” 

“It’s not a good one.” 

You give him a peck on the lips and take a step out. He pulls you back in. “Y/N.” 

“What is it now?” you ask, exasperated. 

Steve grins. He’s been doting on you all day so he understands your frustration. But he can’t help himself. He’s just worried that something might happen. 

His blue eyes drink you in, take in every part of your features. Relaxed brows, tired eyes, sweet lips that he was aching to meet again. 

You warm him like the sun. Make him light enough to float off into space. He believes that all those years he’s spent without you had gone to waste. All those days you could’ve brightened his day with a smile. All those nights he could have held you in his arms. 

“Well?”

“I—” Steve starts, but hesitates. Three words rested on his tongue, itching for a release. The time wasn’t right. “Have a good day.” 

"You too." You slip out of the car as quickly as you can so he couldn't pull you back. 

Steve doesn't move an inch. His head rests against the wheel, watching the way your ponytail bounces with each step. 

You give him one last wave before entering the restaurant, then motion him to leave. 

"Y/N!" May chirps from the register. "You're alive!" 

"Did you want me dead?" 

"Of course not!" she laughs. “How are you now? I saw the news. It’s just horrible,” she shakes her head.

"It was when it came out, but it'll pass," you shrug. "Sometimes I feel like it already has. It’s been really quiet ever since.”

May chuckles, "I’m guessing Steve did his job and scared them off." 

"Maybe," you chuckle, walking past her towards the kitchen to clock in. 

“Oh yeah,” May sighs. "Wanda's been out for the past two days. Her brother got into a horrible accident and she's been with him since. It's been really hard on her." 

"Oh," you whisper, feeling sympathy for her. 

“Staff is tight today so get to work!” she orders playfully. 

You stand tall and give her a salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.” 

Wanda’s strides grow wider as she draws nearer to the restaurant. Fires of fury smoldered in her brown eyes. Her face was red with suppressed rage, and when Vision called from behind, her head whipped towards him. ready to attack. 

She ignores his pleas and pulls the door to Urban Remedy violently as if to break it off its hinges. May’s head turns around at the sound. 

“Wanda?” she asked, confused. “What are you doing here?” 

Wanda ignores her question and looks around for you. She makes her way into the kitchen to find you picking up orders. 

When you see her you give her a small apologetic smile and it only pisses her off. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she hisses. Her voice echoes through the kitchen, making every living thing pause for a moment. 

“What?” Your brows knit together in confusion. 

She grabs you by the shirt with both hands. “What did my brother do to you?” she shouts, shaking you violently. “You ruined his life!” 

You push her off. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” 

“Your fucking boyfriend!” she spat with a pointed finger. Her words spark a fire that courses through your veins. “He hurt my brother.” Wanda’s eyes gloss over but her anger remains evident in her brows. “He broke him and left him to die,” she says, voice cracking a little with every word. “I couldn’t even recognize him when I found him.” 

The fire in you runs cold. Your tightened jaw goes slack leaving your mouth parted slightly in shock. Your mind goes blank. 

Wanda breaks into tears and it breaks your heart. Vision places his hands on her shoulders from behind. 

It doesn’t make any sense to you. You didn’t know what to say or how to explain. 

What the hell were you going to explain if you didn’t even know what had happened?

You come to place your hand on her arm. “Wanda I—” 

She flinches at your touch, eyes blazing red. “Don’t touch me,” she jeers.

Your hand falls to your side and you look away in shame. Your thoughts run wild. Trying to tie the situation together and not make you fall apart at the same time. 

Why would Steve hurt him? 

Then it comes like a lightbulb. 

_"Nowhere, just unfinished business." _

_"I’m guessing Steve did his job and scared them away." _

Your jaw tightens and fist clenches. You look over to Wanda crying in her boyfriend's arms.

"Tell me what he did," you spoke.

"What?" She asks. 

"What did Steve do to your brother?"

The door to Steve’s office opens with a loud slam. You stomp inside with a scowl on your face. 

He furrows his brows at you, standing in front of his desk with a few papers in hand. "Y/N? You're here?" 

You slam your bag onto his desk and he winces at the sound. "Why did you do it?" 

"What are you talking about?" He shakes his head in confusion. 

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" you shout at him. "Why did you do it?" 

He places his hand on his hip and shakes the papers in his other. "Y/N, I don't know what you're talking about,” he repeats. “Is everything alright?”

"Why the hell did you take his eye?!" you blurt out. 

Steve stands back. His lips tilt down as if irritated. "How do you know that?" 

You scoff. "What? You thought I wouldn't find out?" 

He throws his papers onto his desk. "It's something you didn't need to worry about.” 

"It's about me!” you pointed to yourself with both hands. “If anyone is supposed to be worried it's supposed to be me!" your voice begins to rise. "He's Wanda's brother!" And Wanda's my friend!” 

"I don't care whose brother he is. What he did was wrong!" he says, voice beginning to rise as well. "I can't believe you're defending the guy that wrote all that bullshit about you. I was defending you." 

You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. "I'm not saying what he did was right. It's the fact that you decided to take it into your own hands that I’m against." 

Steve clicks his tongue. "He deserved what he got,” he spat. 

The anger residing in your veins begins to boil. "And who made you the judge? You're not the one that's supposed to make that decision!" you shouted at him. 

“I’m the kingpin!” he yelled. “I run things around here. Anyone who goes against me will suffer the consequences!” 

You stand back, but don’t back down. "So it wasn't really about me,” you chuckled sadly. "It was about you and your overinflated ego!" you spat.

"I never said that!" he argues with arms spread at his sides. 

"You just did!” you retorted. “It's all about how people see you. You don’t wanna ruin the perfect image you have for yourself,” you jeer. "You’re not the king of the world. You're just a filthy mobster!" 

Steve’s jaw ticks at your words. Even under his stone cold expression, your words manage to hurt him. Maybe if it was someone else he wouldn’t have cared, but hearing those words from you hurt more than it should’ve. It feels all too familiar. A lot like memories he’s buried six feet under. 

“If that’s what you think then why the hell are you still here?" he states, cold enough that it has shivers running down your spine. "Maybe you should just leave!" 

Your fuse simmered with his words. 

_You never said you wanted to leave. _

Your hands balled into fists and your nostrils flared. "Maybe I should!" you barked. You yanked your bag off his desk making the papers fly off as you rushed out the door. 

Steve swallows deeply as he sees you leave. He wants to run after you but his feet feel like they’re cemented to the ground. Steve swipes a hand through his hair and lets out a deep, exhausted sigh. 

A knock comes at the door and he turns to see Bucky standing in the doorframe. Half hidden as if he was afraid. 

"Uh, is everything okay?" he asks warily. 

Steve’s shoulders drop and a frown forms on his face. "No, no it's not,” he shakes his head. 

"I've made a really big mistake." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not good 😬


	21. Don't Kill the Messenger

“Wait, Y/N,” Steve pleads, following you around like a lost puppy. "Sweetheart, please just listen to me?" 

“No.” 

“Baby,” he whines, loud enough for the entire campus to hear. 

“I’m not your baby.” 

Steve clicks his tongue then jumps in front of you. You stop with puffed cheeks and angry eyes. “I made a mistake and I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m sorry.” 

You remain silent. Unphased by his puppy dog eyes. He hopes you’ll believe him. 

You push past him, your shoulder hitting him on purpose. 

Steve frowns and his shoulders drop. He continues to follow. “Baby, please. I miss you. I want you back. I lo–" 

"I’m sorry, Miss.” Quentin walks up to you. Steve groans audibly. “Is this man bothering you?” he asks with a playful smirk. 

You smile at Quentin sweetly. “Oh, Quentin, you’re here,” you chirp. A sudden change from your deadpan tone with your ex-boyfriend. You hook your arm in his. “Let’s go, we’ve got a lot of studying to do.” 

You pull Quentin along with you towards the library, leaving Steve a stuttering mess. Quentin turns around with a wicked grin plastered on his face. He playfully gives Steve the middle finger only to receive an evil glare from the blonde. 

This was going to be harder than he had expected. 

The usual mid-afternoon rush at Urban Remedy was missing, leaving its employees with more time on their hands than normal. Not counting the few customers who had stopped by for a late lunch, the dining room was practically empty, making the awkward tension in the air thicken between Wanda and you. 

Wanda was wiping down a table while you swept the floor by the counter. You tried your best not to look in her direction but failed miserably. You felt like you needed to speak to her again. You wanted to apologize correctly and make an attempt at reconciliation. Maybe not a friendship, but at least a distant acquaintance. 

You deliberately sweep your way towards her, but Wanda remains calm as if she doesn’t notice. She walks past you quietly making you panic. 

“Wait, Wanda, I—” 

“I’m sorry,” she cuts you off quickly. 

“Uh, what?” 

Wanda averts her gaze to her feet and tugs on the fingers of one hand. "I know it’s not enough but I really am sorry,” she confesses, "The way I acted with you was wrong. I was brash and angry. So angry that I didn’t even know what was really happening. I didn’t read the magazine. I only knew what Pietro told me. And I took his word as truth. I should have known to never fully trust him.” She looks back at you with shame written on her face. 

“He’s a good person at heart, trust me, he is. Sometimes he makes the wrong choices. Viz tried telling me the truth, but I didn’t listen to him,” she shakes her head. "After the fight, Viz forced me to read the magazine and when I did I felt so guilty. Cause you did nothing wrong. He was the one at fault. He degraded you and painted this image of you that isn’t really you." 

"But what Steve did was wrong as well.” 

"Pietro put you on the map, Y/N,” she countered. “Yeah, it might’ve happened someday but that wasn’t his job to do. Everyone in the damn city and God knows where else knows who you are.” 

The truth in her words frightened you more than anything. 

“I don’t think you understand, but there are more enemies than friends around here,” she states. "And I think Steve was just trying to send a warning out." 

"At the expense of your brother?” you question her a bit harshly. It was her brother, why were you offended? “That’s not right." 

She replies with a careless shrug. "I mean he was kinda asking for it,” she said flatly. You blink at her in confusion. "He’s a total douche. Don’t get me wrong he’s my twin and I love him but some of the shit he pulls is shocking. He had it coming for a long time." 

You shake your head and scratch the side of your neck. "I still feel–" 

"Don’t. Please,” she asks. "I don’t feel bad anymore. Really, I don’t. He looks like a pirate now and I think that’s kinda funny." 

You gasp. "That’s not nice to say!" 

"It is what it is,” she shrugs with a chuckle. "So are we good now?" 

You smile sheepishly. "That’s what I was going to ask you." 

Wanda nods with a smile. "Yeah, we’re good. So make up with your boyfriend now, huh?”

“Wait, how did you know that?” 

“Cause he’s standing in front of the window, staring at us like a kicked puppy,” she pointed at the wide window in the front of the restaurant. 

You turn around to find Steve staring at the both of you with a sorry pout painting his features. You stomp to the window and grumble a curse underneath your breath. 

“Leave!” you shout while pointing sideways. 

“No,” he retorts.

Your jaw tightens and brows furrow with anger. 

To say Steve was intimidated would be an understatement, he was downright scared. But that wasn’t going to stop him. He was just as stubborn as you were. Both of you glare at each other with only the glass between as a barrier. 

You examine him. His hair was ruffled like it had fingers twisting in it for hours. Tired eyes. Soft, plump lips left neglected. 

Steve catches you staring at his lips. They curve up in a pompous half-smile. You miss him. He knows you do. 

“Hey!” May shouts at Steve from the main door, “stop harassing my employee and get outta here before I call the cops.” 

“The cops?” he tsks. “May, do you know who I am?” he guffawed. 

May stands by the door, hands on her hips. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers, Stevie. So I advise you not to test me,” she bites.

Steve gulps then huffs. “Fine, I’ll leave, but I’ll be back,” he points at her. He turns to look at you, tight-lipped and determined. He sends a flying kiss your way before stomping down the street. 

Wanda chuckles behind you. “Honestly, Y/N, just forgive him already.” 

“I will not.” 

“Don’t be so stubborn,” she chides. “I know you miss him.” 

“I do not!” you retorted. She’s not buying it. You turn away from her with a grumble. “Okay, maybe a little, but I’m not letting him off the hook just yet.” 

She shakes her head with a disappointed sigh. “You’re evil.” 

“You sure this is going to work?” Steve asked, waving the card in his hand back and forth. 

“I’m positive,” Peter spoke confidently.

“And what’s your credibility?” Sam questions him. 

“I have a girlfriend,” Peter points to himself then waves at all of them. “and none of you do.” 

“Don’t get smart kid or I’ll clobber you,” Bucky snaps. 

“I have a girlfriend,” Steve sighs. “She’s just angry at me.”

“Don’t worry, that happens,” he waves if off. “It’s normal.” 

“We’re not stupid, Peter,” Bucky says, resting his hand on the desk. 

“Well, maybe you are…” he trails off, earning a grumble from the older man. “Anyways, I know exactly how you’re feeling. One time I got into a really bad fight with MJ and she didn’t talk to me for a week.” 

“And what did you do?” Steve asks. 

“First, I followed her around and kept on saying sorry. And then I sent her a bunch of flowers and chocolate but she threw them away. Then I gave up and started crying at her door until she opened it and let me in. We got back after that.” 

Steve nodded slowly. 

He could do that. 

“But Y/N’s way tougher than MJ so there’s a possibility that she might never forgive you,” Peter says flatly. 

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Steve shrugs. He opens the card in his hand then reaches for a pen — his best pen. “What should I write?” 

“Something heartfelt and romantic,” Sam advised. “That expresses your regret.”

“It has to be so romantic that it has her running back into your arms,” Bucky snaps his fingers. 

“Yeah, but don’t make it cheesy,” Peter warns. “She seems like the kind that would hate that.” 

Steve ponders for a moment with his pen hitting the side of his cheek. “I know what to write,” he grins before diving into writing a message. He closes the card and tucks it in a heart lined white envelope. He places the envelope inside of the basket of flowers he had bought. 

“So when are you gonna take it to her?” Bucky asks. 

“Oh, I’m not taking it to her,” Steve shakes his head, making the three furrow their brows in confusion. 

“You are,” he points at him then at Sam. “And you,” 

“What? No! Absolutely not!” Bucky shouts. “I’m not doing that!” 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Bucky grumbles, standing in front of your apartment door. His shoulders are sagging and back hunched with the meanest scowl on his face. 

Sam lets out a sigh and presses the doorbell. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Bucky stands straight up and adjusts the basket of flowers in his hands, making sure the envelope tucked in it was noticeable. 

You open the door and smiles spread across both of their faces. 

“Hi,” Sam waves. 

You lean against the doorframe; disinterested. Your eyes fall onto the flowers in Bucky’s hand but ask anyway. “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We come in peace,” Sam chuckles nervously. When he notices you’re not laughing, he stops. He clears his throat.

“Um, uh, these are for you,” Bucky handed you the basket. You slump a bit, underestimating its weight. “There’s a message there.” 

“From Steve,” Sam adds. 

Your heart flutters just a little at Steve’s sweet gesture. But you’re still angry. “Oh that’s nice,” you nod. “I’ll check when I have the time,” you reply flatly and go to close the door. 

“No wait!” Bucky stops you, with a hand on the door. He feels a shiver run down his spine by the way you’re glaring at him. “Actually, Steve said we can’t come back until you give us a reply.” 

“A reply?” 

“Yeah, to the letter,” Sam says. “He says that we can’t go home until we report back to him.” 

“He may not be your boss, but he is ours,” Bucky said. “So do us a favor and please give us a message to relay?” 

You sigh deeply then put the basket on the ground. You pick up the letter and can’t help but smile at the heart-lined envelope. 

What a twink. 

Bucky and Sam sport hopeful smiles when they see your reaction. 

You rip it open at one end and pull out a small folded paper. Opening it, you read the contents. 

“Roses are red. Violets are blue,” you started. 

You rolled your eyes internally. How generic. 

“I may have screwed up but so did you. So stop being a meanie and take me back.” 

You stare at the letter in your hand blankly. 

Sam rubs his face in irritation. “It doesn’t even rhyme at the end,” he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“So we can’t leave until you give us a reply,” Bucky reminds. 

You look up at him with a smile. The scary kind. “A reply?” you repeat, sickeningly sweetly. “I have a message for Stevie.” you wave him closer to you. “Come here.” 

Bucky comes closer with an innocent smile on his face. The complete opposite of the hideous scowl on your own. You swing your leg back and Bucky swiftly realizes what was going to go down. He jumps back quickly, but not quick enough. Your knee slams into his gut and it knocks the wind out of his lungs. 

You threw the basket of flowers at Sam. “Tell your damn boss to shove his flowers up his ass and leave me alone!” You slammed the door in their faces. 

“Message received,” Bucky wheezes, bent over in pain. 

Sam snickers wickedly at Bucky’s expense while picking the petals off his clothes. “Now that’s what you call Mrs. Rogers material.” 

“So what did she say?” Steve asks in anticipation, sporting a dumb smile and hopeful eyes. 

“Uh, I can’t tell you,” Bucky shakes his head. 

“Why not?”

Sam smirks. “Because he has to show you.” 

Bucky catches on to what Sam was doing and he had to admit. Sam was a genius at times. 

Steve shakes his head in childish confusion. “Okay then, show me.”

And show him he did. 


	22. Moonlight Serenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any typos I try my best not to!

Your eyes burn from the brightness of your phone. 

It’s late, sometime around ten. The notes you were revising were left abandoned on the desk as you retreated into the depths of your bed, buried deep inside the blankets and pillows. You mindlessly wander from one app to another, trying to pass the time and refusing to go to sleep. A ritual you performed every night before falling asleep at an ungodly hour.

You open the messages app. Steve’s contact, decorated with an array of emojis, was at the top, bolded, and with the number “10” next to it. 

Of course, he had sent more messages than just ten. These were just the latest that you had decided not to open. You left him on read for the past two days and knew for a fact that he was probably ripping his hair out at this point. 

Writhe in your misery, Rogers. 

Your finger hovers over his name. It feels good and bad all at the same time. You were too stubborn to admit it, but you missed him dearly. 

The aroma of bergamot and olive blossom that came off him when he pulled you in for a hug. The lilt in his voice when he whined for another kiss. 

It was the little things about him that you missed the most. That made your heart flutter and feel heavy at the same time. 

It’s a foreign sensation. You were no dummy, you knew what it was. You were simply scared out of your mind. 

“_ Maybe I should reply, _ ” you whispered to yourself then shake your head. “ _ No, he deserves it, _ ” you close the app. You swipe through the pages and sigh. “ _ But I miss him, _” you mumble with a frown. You open the messages app again and stare at his name and the trail of words underneath. 

_ I know I’m stupid, but– _

“_ Yeah, you’re stupid, but so am I, _ ” you thought. “ _ Let me call him, _” you go to the call icon in the corner. 

_ “No, he has to call you. Don’t take the first step,” _ your conscious speaks. 

You grumble from your inability to make a decision and slam your phone on the side table face down. You snuggle deeper into the blankets until it’s up to your nose. 

“Boys are bad. Sleep is good,” you yawn.

Suddenly, a loud bang comes at the window making you jump out of bed. You stand at the edge of the window and peek at the corner to find a stupidly familiar face. You groan loudly and slide the window up. 

“What is wrong with you? Are you trying to break my window?!” you whisper-shouted at him. 

Steve gives you a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I have a strong arm, haha.”

You push the window down.

“No wait,” he pleads with an outstretched hand. “Please? Just listen to me this one time?” 

You pause and wait for him to speak. He doesn’t say anything. “Well? I’m waiting.” 

He stands straight, the streetlight above him casting a shadowed light over him. “How have you been?” 

No reply. 

“Tough crowd,” he murmurs with a chuckle, before clearing his throat again. “Okay, um, so I’ve never done this before and I’m only going to do it once. So listen closely.” 

You roll your eyes at him and cross your arms. “Just get on with it.” 

He nods and begins to sing softly. "Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know?" 

He grows louder, gaining confidence with every word. 

"That something wasn't right!" 

Your eyes grow wide and jaw drops. A deep red scatters on your cheeks as you stand there dumbfounded. Steve keeps singing, off-tune with every ounce of energy in him. It’s oddly endearing, warming your heart with every note he sings off-key. But it’s not worth waking up the entire apartment complex. 

You stick your head out the window "Steve stop! You're gonna get in trouble!" you hiss. 

He refuses to listen and continues, really starting to feel the song with his hips. 

"Show me how you want it to be. Tell me, baby, cause I need to know now oh because," 

Another window slides up and an old man sticks his head out. "Who the hell is that?" he barks, “Don't make me come down there!" 

"Hey, asshole,” a woman shouts, “Shut up before I call the police!” 

"My loneliness is killing me!" Steve keeps singing. “And I! I must confess I still believe, ~still believe~.” he screeches. 

He’s fearless and shameless.

“Hey, you!” the grouchy woman shouts at you. “Is he yours?” 

You cover your face in embarrassment, your face hotter than pepper. 

"When I'm not with you I lose my mind,” he points at you. “Give me a sign!” he spreads his arms out. “Hit me, baby, one more time!” 

"Steve get your butt up here right now!" 

He stops immediately with the dumbest smile on his face. “Really?” 

“Quit looking at me dumbass and get up here!” 

He nods and runs to the door. After giving your neighbors an apologetic smile, you quickly slam the window shut. You walk over to the door and buzz Steve in. You pace in front of the door, nervously biting your nails. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your entire life. A single knock comes at the door and you swing it wide open. 

Your lips twist into a scowl at the sight of him. "You are absolutely, most definitely, the worst–"

Steve cuts you off by slamming his lips onto yours. He holds your heated face in his cold hands. You melt into his arms, your knees grow weak, as he kisses you with every ounce of passion in him. 

You push him away gently to catch a breath. "Wow," you whispered breathily. 

A pompous grin spreads on his face. "You wanna repeat that, princess?"

You avert your gaze. “I hate you,” you pout. 

"Baby, I'm sorry. Please give me another chance?" 

"I shouldn't.” 

He turns so you’re looking at him. He takes your hands in his. "You should,” he whines, bringing them to his lips. “Haven’t you tortured me enough?” 

You break character. You always did when it came to him. "Kiss me like that again and I might reconsider,” you tell him with a smirk. 

In a blink of an eye, your back hits the wall softly as Steve takes your lips in a fiery, passionate kiss. Your hands work around his body, sliding over every line of his perfect physique until they wrapped around his neck. 

Unexpectedly, his hand drifts to your hips, pulling you closer to him. He began nuzzling your neck with kisses. So faint, they were like whispers. Your breath quickens. Your body grows weak in surrender to him. His head was angled slightly to the side as his lips came closer and closer to yours. 

Lips parted, your breath mingled with his. Your heart flutters against your chest. 

When he looks at you with his ocean blue eyes, you realize that strange feeling you were so scared of was never something to fear.

Steve was all logic and cool until your skin brushed against his. Then something not only stirred him but overtook his thinking. The only thing that mattered was touching you more, kissing your mouth, worshipping every part of you for all its worth. 

When his name escapes your bruised red lips, voice sweet and breathless, laced with desire, Steve realized that you were the half that made him whole. 

Sunlight shines through the curtains, rather distractingly. 

You grumble softly, covering your face with the sheet and nuzzle your nose into Steve’s bare chest. 

“You gonna sleep all day?” he chuckles.

“What’s it to you?” you mumble against him with a frown.

He chuckles. “Damn, did I wear you out that bad?” 

You slap him on the chest. 

“I was just joking.” 

“I don’t like your jokes,” you grumble, turning over to your side. 

He follows you, slipping his arm underneath and around you. “Baby,” he nuzzles his nose into the curve of your neck. 

“Stevie,” you whine, “I wanna sleep.”

He pulls you closer until your back is taut with his chest. “But it’s almost noon.” 

“You got somewhere to be?” you drawled, eyes still closed.

“Just here with you.” 

You chuckle lazily. “Then let me sleep?” 

Steve huffed. “I’m bored of watching you sleep.” 

“You can sleep too.” 

“But I don’t wanna sleep.” 

You twist your neck over to look at him. “Then what do you want to do?” He gives you a coy grin. “No,” you deadpanned, turning over. 

“I’m playing with you, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “Let’s go do something.” 

“I prefer my Saturdays in bed.” 

Steve groans before falling onto his back and flipping you over with him. “You’re incorrigible,” he mutters, reaching for the pack of cigarettes he left on the bedside table. 

You snuggle into his side contentedly, wrapping an arm around his chest. “What’s so wrong with wanting to cuddle with my boyfriend?” 

“There’s nothing wrong,” he speaks with a stick in his mouth. He grabs his lighter from the table and lights it, then throws it back. Your finger traces over the tattoo on his chest while he takes a languid puff. “But I thought we’d do something more fun. Something more active. Ya know?” 

You turn onto your stomach and look up at him. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs with a smug grin, “you managed to tie me down.” 

“If I do recall, you were the one chasing after me,” you reply, making him blush hard. 

He leans in just a bit and steals another kiss as if he hasn't already kissed you a hundred times through the night. He takes another whiff of his cigarette. 

"That's gonna kill you someday," you remarked. 

He chuckled. "Been doing it for a while hasn't killed me yet." 

"That's because it takes time. It builds and then wham!” you smack him on the chest. He winces in reply. “It hits you when you least expect it." 

He rolls his eyes before bringing it to his lips again. "If you say so, Doctor." 

You frown. "I'm being serious."

"Have you ever tried it?" 

"What? Smoking?" you question incredulously. "No!" 

"Here try it.” 

"I don't want any of that stuff,” you push his hand away. 

"You're not gonna die from one whiff,” he states, “Promise. It won't kill ya." 

You look at him warily as he pushes the cigarette into your face. Taking the stick from him, you hold it with your pointer and thumb. You take a slow drag and start coughing instantly. Steve laughs from his belly. 

"Yuck!' You coughed. 

"It's a bit strong,” he says as he wipes a tear. 

"How do you even like this stuff?" You grimaced, waving it around in the air. He goes to grab it from you and you pull your hand away. "Uh, uh, not anymore," you jammed the butt of the cigarette onto the small glass plate on the side table. "Bye-bye smoking." 

"You're too much sometimes." 

You smiled warmly, smoothing your hands over his chest. "I'm saving your life, moron. You'll thank me later." 

He takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it. “What would I do without you? Seriously, I mean it. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

"You're so cheesy," you groaned, cupping his face with your hand. He nuzzles his face into your hand while you brush the pad of your thumb against his cheekbone. His eyelashes flutter as he looks at you with vibrant blue eyes that fill you with the warmth of the sun. 

You envied just how pretty was, but at the same time felt so lucky that he was yours. 

“I love you.” 

It rolls off your tongue softly, so soft that it was barely audible. 

“You love me?” he repeats as if he’s scared. 

You swallow deeply. It wasn’t supposed to come out just yet. 

“I do,” you say, “I mean at least I think I do,” you avert your gaze onto his tattoos. Your finger traces over it again, over every loop and swirl. “Truth is, I don’t really know much about love,” you whisper. “I’ve never received much of it growing up, and I’ve always been trying to run away from it. So I don’t know a lot about it.” 

You take his hand in yours. A dry ache begins to form in your throat. “But with you, I don’t feel alone or afraid. The way I’ve felt my entire life. And isn’t that how you’re supposed to feel when you’re with the one you love?”

He nods slowly with a humble smile. “I think it does because I feel the same exact way when I’m with you.” 

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers. It’s only for your ears to hear. “I love you so much.” 

His fingers weave into your hair pulling you closer until his lips meet yours in a searing kiss as a promise to always be yours. His other hand goes around your waist pulling you up tighter against him and yours go around his neck. He flips you over and your heart leaps when your back hits the bed. 

Everything felt perfect for a moment in time. In the solace of his arms. Under the warmth of the golden morning sun. Only you and him, hidden from the rest of the world. 

Every burden gone. Every fear dispelled. 

Lazy mornings could never be this perfect. 


	23. Like Putty in Her Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so so sorry for the extremely late update. I had been on a bit of a writer's block for the past three months and just not in a good place with my mental health. But I feel better now and have a bit of motivation to write! I hope you enjoy the chapter. Sorry, but it's not proofread!

“I-I already told you!” Manny shouted, squirming in the ropes he was bound with. “I don’t know where he is!” 

“Bullshit!” Steve hissed, “My guys saw you with him a few days ago.” 

Manny gulps, sweating bullets under the kingpin’s deathly glare. 

“Now tell me where that sonuvabitch is and I’ll go easy on ya,” he slurs. 

“I don’t know where he is!” Manny repeats.

Steve’s jaw ticks in irritation. “That’s not the answer to my question, Manny. You know how much I hate it when—”

Steve’s phone rings in the back pocket of his suit pants. Bucky raises a brow as Sam’s knit together in confusion. Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket and the scowl on his face turns into a delighted smile. He swipes right and answers the call. 

“Hi baby, how’s it going?” he coos. Bucky sighs exasperatedly while slapping his forehead with his hand. 

_ Of all times. _

“How’d your exam go?” he asks, slightly turned away from the rest of the crew. He chuckles at your reply. “See I told you, you’d be fine. I think I deserve a reward for all my help,” he preens before starting to whine. “Don’t be like that! What about all those flashcards you made me read?” 

“Uh, Steve?” Sam cuts in with a whisper. 

“Not now, Sam,” he replies quickly. “No, I’m free. Y’know I’m never too busy for you.” 

“Steve! We’re in the middle of something here!” Bucky hisses.

“Hold on, one second alright?” Steve pulls the phone away from his ear and covers the speaker with his hand. "Beat it out of him, ya hear?" he orders the two before returning to your call. "Babe, you there? Nah it's nothing,” he walks out the door leaving the three behind. 

“The Boss’ girl got him wrapped around his finger, huh?” Manny chuckles. 

Bucky and Sam glared at him. Bucky slaps him on the back of the head. “Shut the fuck up.” 

* * *

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Steve asks, leaning against the bar. His head is tilted to the side and resting in the palm of his hand as he looks at you with dreamy eyes. 

“Yeah like twenty times.” You chuckled then took a sip of your drink by the straw. 

He takes your hand in his, brushing your knuckles with the pad of his thumb. He lifts your hand and presses his lips to the back of it. “Let’s make it twenty-one times.” 

“LeT’s MaKe iT TWeNTy-ONe TiMEs,” Bucky teases obnoxiously from behind him. 

You stifle a giggle as Steve swivels on his barstool to glare at Bucky. “No offense, Buck, but you’re kinda bothering us here.” 

“I don’t think he is,” you said. 

Bucky laughs from his stomach, rattling Nat who’s sitting on the other side of him. She clicks her tongue, pushing him off of her. “Nice to know someone appreciates me around here,” he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. 

From the corner of your eye, you see two bodies approaching you. Steve’s smile twists into a grimace, making you turn to see who it is. 

Your eyes narrowed. You again." 

At the sight of you, Tony slips behind Pepper, who's an inch or two taller than him because of her heels. 

"She’s the one that broke my nose," he whispered into the ginger's ear. 

“I can hear you dumbass," you snarled. 

“Yeah and what if you can?” Tony spoke with a spark of boldness. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

“Then how about you stop hiding behind her and talk to me like a real man?” 

He gulps and falters behind her. “No, I’m fine right here.” 

You smirk. “How’s your nose doing by the way?” 

Tony grumbles under his breath, feeling an itch in his nose. “Shut the hell up." 

“The fuck did you say?” Steve lunges towards Tony. You pull him back by the arm. 

“Steve, it’s fine,” you assure.

“No, it’s not,” he shakes his head. “I oughta—” 

“Stop,” Pepper places a hand in front of her. “We don't want a fight. We’re here to talk.” she stated firmly. “But if it’s a fight you want then it’s a fight you’ll get.” 

You’re surprised and in awe of her boldness. She stands tall like a strong tower. Confident and unable to be shaken. 

You like her. 

“So you just walk in whenever the fuck you feel like it?” he bellows. 

You tug on Steve’s arm harshly. He turns around to look at you. “Maybe you should listen to what they have to say?” 

“I don’t wanna hear—”

“Steve Rogers, I came here to have a good night and if it ends up in a fight I’m breaking your nose next,” you threatened with a hiss. “So listen to what they have to say and get them out of here.” 

Steve turns back to them with a low grumble. “Come on,” he motions them with a finger. The two follow him as he walks past. “Sam. Nat,” he calls. They follow him, leaving you behind. Not like you wanted to go with them anyway. 

You watch intently as the group crosses and leaves the room. You start chewing your bottom lip, wondering if what you did was right. There was no telling of what could happen in that room. 

“Well,” a cheerful voice chimes behind you. You turn around to see Bucky sitting with two glasses in his hands and a smile on his face. “Guess you’re stuck with me for now.” 

You chuckle softly as he slides a glass your way. You did come to have a good time after all.

* * *

“We want to form an alliance,” Pepper lays it flat. Sam raises a brow in confusion as he stands behind Steve’s chair. The Starks were never one to forfeit first. “A temporary alliance,” she elaborates, tucking one foot behind the other as she sits in front of the kingpin, prim and proper like she’s the Queen of England. By her gestures alone, one could tell that she didn’t fit into the mob scene. But even the kingpin knew that Pepper Potts was just as ruthless as she was classy. “Hydra’s been rounding up the smaller gangs around the city. They’re expanding with shallow promises.” 

“How do you know that?” Sam questions. 

“I’ve got a guy that works as a bartender at one of their usual hangouts. He’s been reporting to me for three months,” she informs. “The Lucchese, the Lees, the Gambinos. They’re all in on it.” 

Steve sits quietly as if he’s pondering on her words. “Does this all come as a surprise to you kingpin?” she jabs with a smirk. 

Steve smiles in amusement. “You said the Lucchese are working with Hydra.” 

“I have.” 

“A man by the name of Rumlow came to me a few months ago with a cart offer,” he told her. “He said he was being financed by the Lucchese.”

Pepper raises a brow at the tidbit of information. 

“What? Your bartender had nothing on him?” Steve jeers. 

“Where’s this guy now?” Tony asks, making his presence known in the room. He’s sitting beside Pepper in a far more comfortable position than she is, laid back with his hands folded behind his neck as support. 

“Hell if I know.” 

“Seems to me like your slacking,” Tony comments. Pepper nudges him with her knee, warning him to stay quiet.

“I don’t go around chasing people, Tony. Cause in the end, they come crawling back anyway,” Steve counters with a smug grin. 

Tony sits up abruptly with. “Yeah, we’re here again,” he barks. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you need our help just as much as we need yours.” 

“You can act like you’ve got everything under control, Rogers, but I know for a fact that you have no fuckin’ clue on what Hydra’s planning,” he says with a pointed finger. “And neither do we. But we know that they’re coming after us. Both of us. If we work together we can take down Hydra.” 

“I don’t work with anyone.” 

“C’mon, Rogers,” Tony clicks his tongue. “how about you pull that stick out of your ass and give in, huh? If not for yourself then how about for that girlfriend of yours?” Steve’s head whips towards Tony, his eyes shooting daggers in his directions. Pepper signals Tony to stop speaking, but he’s too far gone to get the memo. “Poor little thing doesn’t know what she got herself into. She’s gonna get a bullet in her head eventually and it’ll be your fault.” 

Steve jolts up, kicking the table between them over as he does. He lifts Tony up by the collar of his shirt and slams him against the wall. Tony fights against his grip, but it’s useless. Steve pulls his gun out and points it at Tony’s head.

“How about I put one through you first?” he snarls. 

“I’d think twice before doing so,” Pepper says, holding a pocket gun aimed straight at him. 

“I could say the same for you,” Nat smirks, pressing the muzzle of her gun to the back of Pepper’s head. 

“You bitch,” Pepper hisses. 

“Takes one to know one,” Nat laughs. 

With Nat behind him, Steve knows he’s in the clear. She was there to catch every bullet that came his way. His finger pushes the trigger of the gun slowly. 

Tony shows the bravest face he could muster up. God forbid he went down looking like a coward, especially in front of the kingpin. He looks straight into the kingpin’s eyes, hardened and cold like iron. They fleck with a soft blue that cracks the hard surface. Tony’s never seen that in him before. 

Steve’s finger eases up on the trigger along with his grip on Tony’s shirt. His hand falls to his side as he looks at Tony with contempt. 

Nat’s brows furrowed in confusion, she looks at Sam who gives her the same look. 

“Get out,” Steve hisses, pushing Tony away. 

Tony stumbles to the side and Pepper catches him. She holds his face in her hands and gives him a soft smile. One that’s only made for him. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” Steve shouts, waving his gun between both of them. “Get out before I put a bullet through both of your heads!” 

“This isn’t over,” Pepper affirms. “And you will regret this.” 

The two leave the room together. The door slams behind them, leaving the three of them in awkward silence. 

“What was that all about?” Nat asked. “Why didn’t you end it?” 

Steve looked at both of them and shrugged with an exasperated sigh. “Y/N would flip if she found a dead guy in my office.” 

The two stare at him in silence. Nat begins to chuckle with a soft shake of her head. “How did it come to this?” she questions, still laughing. 

“What?” he hisses with his hands on his hips. 

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger, buddy,” Sam says. “Real tight.” 

The two never saw the kingpin blush so hard.

* * *

“How long do you think he will take?” you ask, watching the ice in your drink swirl. 

“A while maybe,” Bucky replies bluntly. “Depends on what they’re talking about. Let’s just hope it doesn’t end in a fight.”

Your head turns towards him. “Does it usually?”

“Honestly, it depends on Stevie’s mood. If he’s feeling bored he might start something just for fun.” Bucky notices the way your stance shifts in worry. “But I don’t think he’s in the mood,” he quickly assures with a smile. 

“I always thought you weren’t allowed to walk into someone else’s territory.” 

“Mostly, you’re not. Like you’d never catch my ass in Staten Island,” Bucky said. “But there’s really only two exceptions.” 

“And that is?”

He chuckles. “You’ve got a lot of questions.” 

“I’m just a curious person,” you shrug. 

“You’re only allowed to cross the kingpin’s territory if you’re here to make peace. Cause the kingpin is never the one to start that.” 

“Why is that?”

“Last time I checked a king never bows before anyone,” Bucky says. A sly grin creeps on his face. “Well—everyone except for her royal highness,” he teases. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks.  _ Her royal highness, huh?  _ You didn’t really know what to think of that. “So Tony’s here because he wants to make peace?” 

“Exactly, Tony’s got himself surrounded on all four corners with Steve being three of the four.”

You raise a brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Tony’s got all of Manhattan, but ol’ Stevie’s got Brooklyn, Queens, and half of the Bronx.” 

“A-all of that belongs to him?” you gawk. 

“It sure does. What? You thought the kingpin was just a joke?” 

“No!” you deny. “I mean I always knew it was a big deal, but I just didn’t think it was THAT big,” you emphasized. 

“He hasn’t really told you anything, has he?” 

“No, not really,” you sigh. You didn’t like that he kept secrets from you, but then again his business wasn’t really your business. “He doesn’t really enjoy talking about it. But it’s kind of interesting, how the mob works and all.”

“Don’t you think it's bad though?” Bucky remarks. “Ninety-nine percent of what we do is illegal.” 

You chuckle softly at his point. “None of us are perfect. We’re all flawed. So I don’t see why anyone should judge someone else, and I believe there’s more to a person than what their job is,” you confessed, looking down at the glass in your hand. “When I see Steve, I don’t see him as the kingpin or whatever else you call him, I just see him as Steve and I don’t think I’ll ever see him any other way.” 

Bucky snorts in disdain, a trickle of jealousy flowing through his veins. You can hear him murmuring under his breath and it brings a smile to your face. 

“Stevie, you lucky bastard.” 

* * *

“You gonna be okay?” Sam asked, standing behind the blonde. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve slurs while straightening the sleeves of his shirt. He turns to look at Sam and Natasha. “Keep an eye on ‘em, ya hear? If anything happens, you tell me right away.” 

“We got it,” Nat waves him off, “Now go find Y/N, she’s probably waiting for you.” 

Steve grumbles under his breath before turning away. “Some date this turned out to be,” he mutters as he leaves the back room. 

Steve snakes his way through the crowded club, looking over the heads of dazed dancers in search of you. He makes his way to the bar and finds you sitting by Bucky, completely ecstatic. 

“I win again!” 

“Uh, Y/N, I think you should—” 

“One more round!” 

“Actually, I think we should take a break,” Bucky pries the glass from your hand. “Let’s go find Steve or something.” 

You grimace at his name. “Forget about Steve! We’re having so much fun!” 

“But—”

“I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere,” Steve slides against the bar towards you. 

“Stevie,” you coo, slipping off the barstool. You slink your arms around him and pull him down for a short sweet kiss. 

“Wow, you’re drunk,” he chuckles, the taste of alcohol lingering on his lips. 

Your brows furrow. “No, I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are,” he laughs. "What did you do to her?" 

Bucky raises his hands. "I did nothing, I told her to stop but she wouldn't listen." 

You tug him down so he’d look back at you. Steve can’t help but fawn at the sight of you. All doe-eyed and dreamy. 

"Steeviee, let's go do something fun. I wanna eat pancakes, let's go to IHOP." 

"Baby, it's almost midnight." 

"Sooo?" you pout, tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. "I want pancakes."

"C'mon, Stevie, get the girl some pancakes, will ya?" Bucky teases. 

"I'm going to kill you,” Steve groans. 

"And that's why I'm leaving now,” the brunette responds, slipping out of his chair and taking his jacket into his hand. 

You let go of Steve and give Bucky a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Bye-bye, Bucky."

He chuckles and returns the gesture. "Bye, Sweetheart, see ya soon." Bucky makes a quick exit, leaving Steve and you alone. 

Steve sighs. "Now what am I gonna do with you?" 

"Pancakes." 

"We're not having pancakes," he denies. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

"Okay, come on, out now," Steve orders as he stands by the opened door to his car. 

You’re sitting in the passenger seat, slightly slumped over and in no hurry to move. "No," you deny with a pout. Steve clicks his tongue and scoops you out of the car. "Hey!" 

Steve shuts the door of the car with his foot and heads towards the door. 

"Stop don't touch me!” you fight in his arms. They’re just little nudges to him. “If my boyfriend finds out he's gonna kick you." 

"Yeah? I'd like to see him try." 

"My boyfriend's the King of Brooklyn," you brag for the whole neighborhood to hear. "y' know that? And he's gonna kick you when I tell him you’re trying to make a move on me." 

He plants a kiss on your forehead that has you gasping. "You kissed me! How dare you kiss me? I have a boyfriend!" You pushed him away from you. 

Steve places you on your feet but keeps you in arm’s length. "Baby, it’s me, Steve, remember?" he says, unlocking the front door. 

"Stevie?” you question. “I can't see I don't have my glasses." 

"You don't even wear glasses,” he laughs, pulling you inside. 

"Oh," you whisper. 

“Come on,” he picks you up again. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

You rest your head in the curve of his neck, pushing your heels off as he walks up the stairs towards his room. You hum a random tune while playing with the buttons on his shirt. 

“Was that Tony guy mean to you?” 

Steve chuckles. “No, he was alright. A bit annoying but alright.”

“Were you mean to him?” 

“I tried not to be.” 

You lifted your head off his shoulder. “Did you poke his eye out?” you asked worriedly. 

He rolled his eyes. “No, I did not. So don’t worry.” 

“Okay,” you fall back into him as he steps into the room. He places you on the bed and goes to find a t-shirt for you to change into. He comes back and unzips the back of your dress. 

“Woah,” you giggle. “Someone’s ready to get nakey.” 

“No, not tonight baby,” he laughs, a blush gushing on his pale cheeks. He tugs the shirt over your head. You slip your arms through the sleeves and fall back onto the bed. He takes the covers and tucks you in. 

“Good night,” he presses his lips on your forehead before getting up. 

You catch him by the arm. "Where are you going?"

"I’ve got some work to do. You go to sleep." 

Your lips tug down into a frown. "You always work. Stay,” you whine.

"But–" You pull him down to you with a firm tug. “Fine,” he sighs. 

He slips his hand out of yours, takes his pants and shirt off, and slips in right next to you. 

“Better?” 

You cozy into his side, wrapping an arm around his chest with the biggest smile on your lips. He pulls you closer, if that was even possible with an arm wrapped around your waist. 

It’s silent for a short moment, as you listen to the steady beat of his heart against your ear. 

"Stevie, you know I love you right?" 

Steve chuckles. "Oh, I think I missed that one." 

"Well, I do. So much like so so so much."

"Love you too sweetheart," he kisses you. 

"I don't think I've ever really loved someone like this before,” you confessed. "Maybe Quentin."

"Quentin?" he snarled. 

"Yeah, but not in the same way I love you, y'know? I love him like a brother,” you said. "But I love you in a different way. The kinda love where I’d wanna get married to you someday." 

Steve’s heart did a somersault. "M-married?" 

You yawn. "Yeah, sometimes I think about it before I go to sleep. It's kinda embarrassing.” 

A smile spreads on his face, stretching from ear to ear. He takes your face into his hands and starts peppering kisses all over. "I love you. I love you." he chants between each kiss. 

Your giggles fill the air along with the exaggerated smack of his lips on your face. "Stop that!"


	24. Tears for Fears

_ “Momma, did you know that time and space are connected to each other?"  _

_ "I've heard something like that before," your mother replied.  _

_ She wiped the sweat off her forehead with an exasperated sigh.  _

_ The sweltering sun beat down on the playground, thick like a slap to the face. The trees stand mute in the summer air, casting patches of pathetic shade over the both of you. The aging wood of the bench was rough against her thigh but she ignores it.  _

_ She's felt worse.  _

_ "You see what happens is that time can be observed differently from where we are in space," you told her. "Like I can see something super slow but it can be really fast for you. We just observe it differently. But the time is still the same no matter what. It's known as time dilation. And the coolest part about it is that even if "our" times are different the speed of light always stays the same for the both of us—"  _

_ "Y/N, your popsicle's melting," she interrupted irritatedly. She groans as she turns to get tissues out of her bag. "It's all over your hand," she nags as she wipes away the red liquid dripping from your hand.  _

_ "This is what happens when you talk too much," she says, taking the popsicle from your hand and throwing it over the chair into the grass. "You don't pay attention to the things around you."  _

_ You stood there ashamed as she cleaned your hand with a wipe. "Sorry," you mumbled. _

_ She sighs with a drop of her shoulders. "It's alright," she said, feeling guilty for scolding you.  _

_ It always came out the wrong way. She didn't know the first thing about being a mother. But even though she messed up so many times, it never stopped you from looking at her like she had hung the stars in the sky.  _

_ "Where'd you learn about the time thing anyway?"  _

_ "I read it in the encyclopedia," you told her. "Under the 'T'."  _

_ She raised a brow in confusion. "The encyclopedia?"  _

_ "The one Daddy brought home."  _

_ "Oh," she muttered with a scowl. "You like that kinda stuff don't you?"  _

_ You shrugged. "I just read it cause it sounded cool."  _

_ “That means you like it, ” she chuckles. "Promise me one thing?"  _

_ "What?"  _

_ She slips off the bench and crouches in front of you. She takes your small hands in hers and looks at you through her long lashes.  _

_ "All this stuff about time and space and whatever it is, never let it go. Don't stop doing what you love because someone says you aren't good enough." _

_ You nodded vigorously. She chuckles at your childish enthusiasm, eyes crinkling at the corners. She tucks a strand of your hair behind the ear lovingly.  _

_ "You're such a good girl," she says, voice breaking ever so slightly. She pulls you into a tight hug.  _

_ A dry ache forms in her throat as tears brim at the corners of her eyes. "Promise me you'll always be a good girl for me?"  _

_ "I promise," you nod against her shoulder.  _

_ She kisses the side of your head. "I love you so much."  _

_ You smile against her shoulder, taking in the scent of apricot that lingered on her skin.  _

_ "I love you too." _

_ Looking back at it today, you wished you weren't so foolish. You wished you noticed her teary eyes and the way her smile quivered. How she held you so tight as if she’d never see you again.  _

_ Her expression hardens, reminding herself of the reason why she came here.  _

_ She lets go of you. "Alright, ten minutes, and then it's time to go home."  _

_ You grin from ear to ear as you dash over to the swings. You take a seat and start pushing yourself back and forth.  _

_ "Watch me go real high!" You shouted. She laughed with a wave of the hand.  _

_ On that swing, it was as if time had slowed down to the very second. Every push. Every pull. Every giggle that escaped your lips as you soared into the sky. Every step she took away until you realized she was gone. Every second of that moment was forever engraved into your memory.  _

_ And you wondered, in the years to come, did she see it the same way? _

* * *

You stare at your textbook, dug deep into the words, read each line over and over again, but process nothing. You face plant into your book and grumble. 

“What’s with you?” Quentin asked, sitting across from you in the library. 

You rest your chin on the book and look up at him. “I keep getting this feeling that someone's looking at me. I think I’m going paranoid” 

Quentin looks up and catches a group of students staring at you from a table by the corner. You turn to see where he was looking. They quickly avert their eyes back to their books and laptops. “Maybe it’s not you.” he retorts with a chuckle. 

“I just don’t get it,” you huff, slouching into your chair and crossing your arms. “What’s with everyone these days? Like the other day in lab, I asked Jane—”

“Foster?”

“Yeah— if she wanted to work on the lab report together, but she said that she had work. But then I found her chatting up some guy in the math lab. Like you didn’t have to lie?” 

“You’re not being serious are you?” Quentin asked. 

“I am.” 

Quentin sighed. “I didn’t want to be the one to say this, but Jane was probably trying to avoid you.” 

“Why? What did I do to her?” you jolted in your chair. 

“Two words,” he says with two fingers up. “Your boyfriend.” 

Everything suddenly makes sense. The lingering stares. The nervous laughs and awkward smiles. It all came together when you put two and two together. 

Your boyfriend a.k.a. The Kingpin. 

“Okay and what about it?” you countered. “Just because my boyfriend’s a criminal doesn’t mean I’m one too.” 

Not you calling your own boyfriend a criminal. But if the shoe fits…?

“Just because you’re not, doesn’t mean he isn’t,” Quentin replied. “Did you forget he poked some guy’s eye out just because they wrote something bad about you in the paper? Like yeah, the dick deserved it, but you shouldn’t expect everything to go back to the way it was. People are going to be scared of you.” 

Quentin was right. 

No matter how much you tried to make things seem ordinary. It was far from it. Steve’s notoriety in the city was obtrusive. You couldn’t hide it in a box and shove it in the back of the closet. No matter where he goes men will cower in front of him. And the same, in a sense, went for you. 

Loving Steve was something you weren’t ashamed of. Waking up to find him beside you was more than you could ever ask for. But the weight of his profession was starting to take its toll on your back making you grow weary. 

“So how’s the big boss doing anyway?” Quentin snaps you out of your pensive thoughts. 

“Oh,” you twiddle your thumbs over your book. “He’s alright. Just busy.” 

“Busy?” 

“Yeah with work,” you whispered in the end, somewhat ashamed. 

The word “work” could apply to so many different things that all fit in the category of dishonorable. 

“Sometimes he comes home tired and stressed,” you sighed, sifting your fingers through locks. “I’m worried about him.” 

“Wait, you moved in with him?” Quentin said. 

“No, not really,” you shook your head. “Sometimes he asks me to stay over because it’s “safer” that way. It helps ease his conscience.” 

“Things are pretty bad, huh?” 

You scoffed. “I wouldn’t know. Not like he tells me anything,” you grumble. “He just tells me not to worry about it.” 

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to get involved.” 

“I get that. But shouldn’t I know something?” 

“I honestly can’t say,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe he’s still taking time to adjust. Give him the space he needs for now and when it’s the right time he’ll open up to you.” 

You fidget with your hands, avoiding his gaze. “Two days ago, Steve came home with a gash on his cheek and bullet grazes on his arm.” You look up at him with fear in your eyes. 

That’s something he’s never seen before. 

“What if I wait and it ends up being too late?” 

Quentin swallows. He always had an answer for everything. No matter the subject, he was well-prepared with a rebuttal. But in that moment, in the quiet of the library, he couldn't find the right words to comfort you. 

* * *

"Look at you!" You exclaimed. "You look like you got hit by a car! What were you doing out there?" 

You stand in front of him, slightly to the side to clean the cut on his arm as he sits on the kitchen island. The cut was deeper than the healing bullet grazes he got on the same damn arm.

"Ouch, babe, watch it with that stuff. It hurts!" Steve hisses. 

"Good! Maybe then you'll learn not to be such an idiot!" 

His pack of goons, all beat up and bloodied, chuckled around the kitchen table. 

"What were you expecting me to do?"

"Run away." 

Steve scoffs. "Me? Run away?" He repeats. "The kingpin running away from a fight? Get real. No one would take me seriously then." 

"So then you try to fight twenty guys with four?" you retorted, wrapping gauze around the wound. "Are you nuts?" 

"It's what I gotta do. The kingpin cowers in front of no man—ow!" 

You roll your eyes. "You men and your pride, it'll have you dead someday." 

"You two bicker like an old married couple," Bucky entered the conversation. 

Steve chuckles. You shoot a glare Bucky's way. 

“Shut up Bucky," you bite. Bucky puts his hands up in surrender. 

Steve tugs on your arm so you're facing him. “Baby, I’m fine.” 

You sigh with a frown. “No, you’re not. Look at your hands.” 

You take his hand and see the stark contrast between his scraped and bloodied fingers and your smooth and soft ones. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, from the frustration of seeing him like this, but you suck them right back up. Like hell, you'd cry in front of a bunch of mobsters. 

“God, Steve you’re such an idiot. Some days I just can’t with you," you sigh, tending to his hands. 

“Sweetheart,” he coos. 

“Don’t sweetheart me!”

He smiles softly, hiding the enormous amount of guilt that rested on his shoulders. He knows you're trying hard to keep it all together, and all he does is rip apart all your hard work. 

He leans into you and sneaks a quick kiss. Your cheeks heat at the sound of suppressed chuckles behind you. 

You roll your eyes as you finish bandaging his hands. “I hate you sometimes.” 

“And what about all the other times?”He raises his hand in front of him to admire your handiwork. “You’re gonna be a great doctor someday. These are the cleanest bandages I’ve ever seen.” 

“Thanks for that," you chuckled, leaning in for another kiss. 

“Alright quit smooching and help me over here," Bucky hollers at the two of you.

"No! Me first!" Peter exclaims with a raised hand. "My arm's literally bleeding out!" He says, waving his bloodied arm. 

"Stop being such a pussy, Peter," Sam snapped. "Be a man and suck it up." 

"That's disgusting," Peter grimaces, "I'm not gonna suck my own blood." 

"It's official, you're a dumbass," Bucky deadpans. 

"Alright, calm down you guys," you said, picking up your first aid kit and walking towards them. "There's enough stickers and lollipops for everyone." 

Steve watches as you help Peter and order Sam, the least scuffed up, to help Bucky. He complains but helps under the supervision of your infamous glare. Hisses and snarky remarks were exchanged between the lot and for some odd reason, it warmed Steve's heart. 

He slipped off the island and headed towards the private study. Once there, he sits at his neat desk and blankly stares at the bookcases that lined the wall. His eyes wander around the study until they fall upon the picture of his father and a younger him that he kept on his desk. 

Steve reaches over to get the frame then falls back into his chair. He wipes off the thin layer of fresh dust on it and smiles at his younger self. He was scrawny and short; sickly pale and a bit shy in his stature as he stood next to his father, who towered over him with broad shoulders and a warm smile. One only found in extremely rare cases.

Steve's smile wavers when he looks at him. He feels ashamed and incompetent. 

Deep inside, Steve knew he was losing and that his loved ones would suffer the most if he didn't come up with something to end it all. 

He sighs, lightening the burden on his shoulders. 

"What would you do?" He asks his father.

* * *

_ Steve looked upon his withered father by the door. His nanny tucked him into bed a few hours before but he could never fall asleep until he knew for a fact that his father was home.  _

_ An aching groan escapes Joseph’s lips as he slips into one of the tufted leather chairs set in front of a crackling fire. The light from the flames illuminates his tired, worn face. His expression was of frustration and fatigue as he felt that he had no place left in the world for him after the death of his wife. And yet he stayed with silent, listless eyes just watching, fire adorning his skin.  _

_ As each day passed, Steve watched his father wilt. Joseph had lost his youthful and handsome looks, his strong will and fearless eyes. When he looked upon him now, all he could see was a wizened, tired man who had aged far quicker than what was worth his years.  _

_ Joseph calls him with a hand. “Steve, go get me a glass of whiskey.”  _

_ Steve quickly runs over to the table against the wall where the alcohol was kept. He pulls out a glass from the cabinet underneath then twists the cap off the whiskey bottle and carefully pours out a glass for his father.  _

_ Steve liked to do it. It made him feel like a big boy who was capable of responsibility. He takes the glass and hands it to him. Joseph gulps the entire drink in one go, feeling the ache in his bones lighten. After placing the glass on the side table he picks up his son and places him on his lap.  _

_ “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Joseph asks with a smile.  _

_ “I had a bad dream,” Steve said. “It was the clowns again,” he murmured.  _

_ Joseph suppresses a chuckle, not wanting to berate his son’s fears. “Stevie, they’re not gonna hurt you.”  _

_ “I know, but they’re scary. I wish I was brave like you.”  _

_ He ruffles Steve’s blond locks and chuckles. “I’m not brave, kiddo, I get scared just like you,” he assures. “But I always try to remember that I’m stronger than the things that are trying to hurt me. Remember, Stevie, no matter what comes your way you always stand up. You plant yourself like a tree and move for no one.”  _

_ “Yes sir.” Steve nods.  _

_ Joseph smiles and sits back in his chair. “Y’know I’ve been thinking, it’s been a long time since we’ve done something really fun.” Steve’s ears perk and a smile appears on his face before Joseph could even say anything. “So that’s why I got you and me,” he shuffles in his chair to take out something from his pocket. “Two tickets to the Yankees game right behind home plate.”  _

_ “No way!” Steve marvels at the white strips of paper. He looks at them as if they were diamonds. “That’s crazy!”  _

_ Joseph smiles, cherishing his son’s excitement and feeling ease inside that he liked them. He knew he wasn’t fit to be a father and with Sarah gone he tried his best to be there for Steve as much as he could. He knew, considering his profession, that their time together could be cut short at any moment, so he wanted to spend it living life to the fullest.  _

_ “Alright,” Joseph says as he lifts an exuberant Steve and stands up. “Let’s get you to bed. You’ve got school in the morning.”  _

_ “You’re the best, Dad,” Steve murmurs against his shoulder. _

_ “You’re pretty cool yourself,” he chuckles, before kissing the side of his head.  _

_ The two leave the study and walk up the stairs towards Steve’s room. Steve’s eyes grew heavy with every step his father took towards his room. With his hand holding the tickets tight, he falls asleep in his father’s arms, knowing that the scary clowns couldn’t hurt him. _

_ The only thing left to fear was fear itself and only the strongest of men would admit they were afraid. In the years to come, Steve wondered if his father was afraid of living or dying. _

* * *

_ “ _ You okay?” 

Steve looks up from the picture in his hand to see you standing by the door. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he nods. 

You walk towards him. 

“Where are the guys?” 

“Heading home,” you told him. “They figured you wanted to be alone.” 

You stand next to his desk, a bit agitated and not knowing what to do with yourself. 

Steve raises a brow. “Something wrong?” 

“No,” you shake your head and lean against the side of the desk. “It’s nothing.” 

“So there’s something?” he speculates, “but you’re not telling me.” 

“There’s nothing,” you stated flatly, keeping your gaze strictly on your feet. 

“Babe, just tell me.” 

“I mean does it really matter? It’s not like you tell me anything anyway.” 

Steve takes a deep sigh as he leans back into his chair. He knew where you were going with this and that the headache slowly creeping in didn’t want it. What he wanted was a warm body to wrap his arms around and a shoulder to rest his head on, but he knew for a fact that he wasn’t going to get that.

“I don’t tell you because I don’t want you to get involved.” 

“But shouldn’t I know something?" you question him immediately. “You make me sit here alone for hours and then you come home looking like you got hit by a train and somehow I’m just supposed to be okay with that? I’m just supposed to go on acting like it’s normal?” 

“It’s part of the job.” 

“It wasn’t like this in the beginning,” you pointed out. “But it’s really bad now.” 

“And I’m working on it and that’s all you need to know.” Steve gets up and walks past you in a hurry. 

“I know more than that,” you followed behind him. “I know it has something to do with this Hydra gang and you need help—”

He quickly turns around. “I don’t need help,” he counters harshly. 

“Oh really?” you tilt your head to the side and place your hands on your hips. “Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be looking like this.” 

Steve grumbles, rubbing his face roughly. “Y/N, I’m not in the fucking mood,” he warns but you’re past the point of turning back. 

“Well, I am. Cause I’m sick and tired of sitting here like some 50’s housewife while you’re out there trying to get yourself killed!” you shout then grow silent when he doesn’t reply. You take his hand before whispering. “Steve, I’m worried about you. I know you’re frustrated, but keeping it all bottled up like this isn’t good for you.” 

Steve looks at you for a split second before turning away and slipping his hand out of yours. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he states coldly. 

His reply makes your nostrils flare. “Why are you like this?” you questioned harshly. 

“Like what?” 

“You’re always acting like the tough guy! Like you’ve got everything in control when it’s all falling apart! Your ego is too big for your fucking head!” 

"Alright, you wanna help me?” he barks. “Then help me,” he walks past you and pulls out a gun from the drawer of his desk. He cocks the gun, takes your hand by the wrist, and slaps it in your palm. “Take this fucking gun,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the handle and pressing the muzzle of the gun against his head. “And blow my fucking brains out cause that’s the only way you could possibly help me.” 

You’re dead quiet. You couldn’t muster up any words to speak and even if you could, what could you say in a situation like this? Steve’s grip around your hand is so tight that your arm grows stiff while the rest of you is shaking. So overwhelmed with emotion and with no other outlet to release you start to cry. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and slide down your cheeks.

Steve’s eyes widen when he realizes what he’s done and quickly lowers the gun, pries it from your fingers, and places it on the desk. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m so sorry,” he apologizes profusely as he takes you into his arms. “I don’t know what got into me. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

“It’s my fault,” you mumble against his chest. “You’re tired and I’m bothering you.” 

“No, no, no,” he says while shaking his head. “All you wanted to do was help. I’m the bad guy here.” 

You pull back a little. “I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.” 

“You did nothing wrong.” He kisses your forehead then wipes the tears around your eyes. 

“I’m just scared,” You fall into him, dipping your face into his neck. Steve holds you close, feeling like absolute shit. He caresses your hair and whispers apologies into your ear.

Truth is, Steve was scared too. He was afraid of how easily everything was slipping out of his hand. How the city was at the brink of an inevitable war with him as the main target. But what scared Steve the most. What woke him up in a cold sweat on warm nights was that somehow, in the midst of all the chaos and destruction that was to come, he’d end up losing the one thing that meant the most to him. 

You.

* * *

“Miss Carter, it’s so good to see you again,” Pierce greets her with a kiss to hand. 

Peggy inwardly scoffs at the feel of his wrinkly old lips on her hand but gives him a sweet smile. “Likewise, Mr. Pierce.” 

“Please, call me Alex,” he insists with a charming smile as he turns to the bar in the empty tavern. “Had a good flight?” 

“As good as it could get,” she said nonchalantly. “Not a big fan of flying.” She sweeps a handkerchief over the chair before taking a seat. 

“It’s a good thing the Boss sent you in,” Pierce stated, “We could use all the help we can get. And considering your —er… previous relationship with the Kingpin, I think you’d come in very handy.” 

Peggy’s jaw ticks at the latter comment. He fixes a drink for her and slides it her way. 

“Victor wants to get on with it,” she informs. “You’re taking too long and he’s grown very impatient.” 

“He does know what we’re up against right?” Pierce guffaws with his back to her. “This is the Kingpin we’re talking about. An enterprise that’s been cemented into the city for more than fifty years. It’s going to take time.” 

“The Boss doesn’t care,” she says, seriously. “He wants results and you’ve failed to give them and instead wasted valuable time.” She slips her hand into her pocket and takes out a gun. 

He chuckles. “I guess I’m going to have to have a talk with him,” Pierce says. 

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” Peggy says as Pierce turns. “He says your job here is done.” 

Before Pierce could even register what was happening, she pushes the trigger of her gun and shoots him right between the eyes. His body falls to the floor with a hard thump. 

Peggy takes the glass he made for her and raises it towards him “Cheers.” She toasts to his dead body before drinking.

An audible gasp comes from the entrance door. Peggy turns to see a young man frozen in shock. 

“Ah,” she smiles as she approaches him. “You must be Baron Zemo. I think Mr. Pierce informed you that I was coming.” 

Zemo nods quietly. 

“Good,” she nods. “Now, Zemo, I want you to gather all your little friends and be back here in one hour. We have a lot to discuss.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for 10,000 hits and over 300 subs + bookmarks! This is absolutely crazy!


	25. Two Slow Dancers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the extremely late update school has been kicking my ass. 
> 
> sorry, this was barely proofread and i hope you like it.

_ I'll be the one that stays 'til the end  
And I'll be the one that needs you again  
And I'll be the one that proposes in a garden of roses  
And truly loves you long after our curtain closes  
But will you still love me when nobody wants me around?  
When I turn eighty-one and forget things will you still be proud? _

* * *

The subway looks like a murder scene before the crime. 

Gray below, gray above, and a tunnel of black. The air is stale and after a long day of warm bodies running in and out of the station, it smells disgusting. 

Quentin steps off the train and walks towards the exit. He walks up the steps and out into a fresh spring breeze — as fresh as it could get in New York. He walks towards the setting sun and his crummy apartment after a long day of finals, wanting nothing more than a shower and a night devoted to video games. 

The semester was officially over and it was as if the biggest weight had just dropped off his shoulders. Excitement oozed from his pores as he was beginning to prepare for a summer in Silicon Valley as an intern at a big tech firm. Things were finally starting to fall in his favor and nothing could stop him now. 

Of course, there was always that matter of you and that stupid boyfriend of yours. But he had tried to come to terms with it and eventually accepted it for what it was and deep down, he could even say he thought the two of you made a good pair. Obviously, not as iconic as you and him, but good nevertheless. 

Quentin took a turn at the intersection and into a quieter street. Rock music blasted in his ears, threatening to pop his eardrums, but he didn’t seem to care as he celebrated the end of finals. He walked down the street, skipping and bopping to the beat of the song, not noticing a group of men standing idle on the side. 

They walk towards him like animals out for a kill. Quentin takes a couple of steps back before turning to get away. One of the men grabs him by the collar while another man swings at him with the crowbar, hitting him directly in the stomach. 

Quentin hunches over in pain. Another hit comes to the side of his head, making him fall from the impact. He musters up the strength to get back up, but gets kicked down. 

His head is pounding and his eyesight blurs as blood trickles down the side of his cheek. The men above him are conversing with each other, but it’s all gibberish to him. His consciousness begins to ebb. The sound of heels clicking against the concrete and the image of bright red-painted lips smiling down at him was the last thing he remembers before it all goes black.

* * *

_ Around the same time... _

“Explain to me why I have to go?” you whined, applying mascara in front of the mirror of the dressing table in Steve’s room.

“You’re my girlfriend and it would just be wrong if I went alone when I could be showing you off,” Steve says from the adjoined bathroom to his room.

The mayor was holding a charity ball as a PR stunt before the upcoming election. And to cement his connections he invited some of his closest and most valuable friends. Shockingly enough, Steve just so happened to be near the top of that list.

You give him a stifled chuckle paired with an unseen roll of the eyes. “I would just embarrass you.” 

“And how so?” he raises a brow, cuffing the links of his shirt. “If anything, you make me look cooler. A top student at Columbia just screams “classy and sexy.” 

“Oh so I’m just arm candy for you?” you tease, 

“Wha—? No, no—I didn’t mean that” he stuttered over his words. 

You laugh. “I’m joking with you,” you assured. “I’m just kinda nervous. I mean I might meet the MAYOR of New York City for crying out loud.” 

Steve chuckles. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” he says as he walks out of the bathroom to find you still in sweatpants.  “You’re still not ready?” 

“Almost!” you throw the beauty products back into the bag. “I just need to put my dress on,” you run past him into the bathroom. 

He shakes his head as he walks out of the room and down the stairs towards the kitchen to get a drink of water. 

It’s hard not to notice the neon sticky notes with scribbles of different metabolic cycles plastered all over the fridge door. Or the addition of family-sized bags of Hot Cheetos next to his protein bars and an extra coffee mug covered with little caffeine molecules next to his rather plain one. 

In an informal way, you had moved in with him about three weeks ago after the fight and him lashing out at you. He was ridden with guilt after shouting at you. You may have forgiven him, but he hadn’t forgiven himself. In the past three weeks, he did everything he could to make it up to you.  All you asked from him was for some peace and quiet as you studied for finals during dead week and Steve took it so seriously that he only came to visit you with a bowl of fruit every now and then. 

He leaves the kitchen to find you standing in the foyer, dressed in a classic black off-the-shoulder dress with a slit running up the side of your leg. 

He gapes like a child on Christmas Day. 

“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies,” you chuckle, fixing your hair. 

He obeys as he makes his way to you. “I swear you’re gonna kill me someday,” he says breathlessly. His hands fall on your hips and pull you closer to him. 

“I could say the same about you,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He pulls back from you and reaches into his pocket. “Oh yeah, I have something for you.”

“You didn’t have to—.” 

“I wanted to,” he smiles, taking out a necklace. 

You gasp at the sight of it. The gold necklace was simple yet beautiful with a small heart pendant that was studded with quaint diamonds hanging off it. From the design, you could tell that it could have been an antique. 

“It belonged to my mother,” Steve tells you. 

You avert your gaze from the necklace and up to him. “Oh, Steve, I can’t take this. It’s important to you.”

“She’d want me to give it to someone special,” he replies with a genuine smile. 

He motions you to turn around. You hesitate at first but listen. He pushes your hair to the side gently so he can put it on. 

“There,” he says as he connects the necklace. 

You turn around with a sheepish smile while he’s practically beaming at you. 

“I love it,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.” 

“Anything for my girl.” 

He dips in for a kiss, gentle so it doesn’t ruin your lipstick, but hungry all at the same time. His lips trail away and down the curve of your neck as his hands grow tighter on your hips. Your back presses the wall as he comes back to your lips and kisses you passionately, obviously not caring about your lipstick anymore. (Not like you cared much either). 

“Steve, we should go,” you say between kisses. 

“How about we pretend we don’t have to?” he smiled before another kiss. 

“I didn’t get all dressed up for nothing,” you tsk. 

He presses himself harder against you and kisses you again. Your hand smoothed over the fabric of his suit while the other meshed with his soft blond locks. His hand is hot on your exposed thigh, igniting sparks to run through your body as he lifts you up. You whimper in his ear when he sucks on the tender spot of your neck. Damn this man and his glorious mouth. You can feel him smirking wickedly against your skin. 

Steve comes up to look at you. Your red lips parted slightly, breath steady and mingling with his, his gift adorning your skin so perfectly. 

You’re practically melting in his arms under his heated gaze. And he knows he has you on his side with another bruising kiss. 

“No one will notice if we’re a bit late.” 

“No, I suppose they won’t.”

* * *

It’s official you hate rich people. 

Well, if you had to be honest, you were never a fan of the rich to begin with, but now, you’re more than convinced they might just be the worst lot of people on the planet. 

Imagine complaining about having to vacation in the Hamptons rather than Monaco because daddy wanted you to pay the fuel for your private jet out of your own pocket. 

That was one of many conversations you’ve eavesdropped on through the night and each one got worse than the last. 

You stand by Steve, your hand wrapped around his arm, as he talks to some rich guy about stock markets and blah blah blah, wishing he hadn’t talked you into coming to this gaudy event. 

Steve takes a side glance to find you completely bored out of your mind. He pulls on his own arm gently, to get your attention, then excuses himself from the man. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks as the two of you walk away from the crowd. 

“Oh nothing, just bored out of my mind,” you exaggerated. 

“I thought you’d have fun.”

“Me? Have fun with a bunch of snobby trust-fund kids?” you laughed. “I’d rather spend a day at an art museum.”

“Really?” his eyes light up, “Ahh, I’ve made a mistake.” He shakes his head in mock regret, earning a chuckle from you. He pulls you in close, wrapping an arm around your waist.  “C’mon let’s go dance,” Steve says. 

You look over at the couples dancing on the floor and shake your head vehemently. “Oh no,” you refuse with nervous laughter. 

“Why not?” Steve whines. “We’ve never danced together before.”

“That’s because I don’t know how,” you counter.

“You’re smart, you’ll figure it out,” he pulls you towards the dance floor. 

Once on the floor, Steve turns around to look at you. He keeps your hand in his and places his other hand on the small of your back. “Just sway with me.” He starts to dance to the music, leading you through.

Heat bursts on your cheeks. “This is stupid,” you mumble. “I probably look stupid.”

“Trust me, you don’t,” Steve shakes his head. 

“What if people are watching us?” you ask while taking side glances at the dancers around you. 

“Don’t worry about ‘em,” he says, “it’s just you and me, baby.” 

You give him a sheepish grin but listen, keeping your eyes on him. 

The music spun around them lifting gravity. You couldn’t count how many times you’ve squished Steve’s foot under yours, but he still beamed with the brightest smile.  You placed your head on his chest, and let him sway your body ‘round and round again. The violins came in, then the piano, then the sure beating of the drum. He plants a kiss on the top of your head tying it all together. 

You can feel the stress leave your body and the music heal your soul. You wish it could be like this forever. Just you and him in each other’s arms, dancing on the clouds, away from the dread that waited at home.  But you knew the minute the music stopped those feelings would return and you had to be strong. Not just for yourself but for him. 

He leaned on you. And if you were to crumble what would happen to him? 

Only God knew the lengths you’d take for the man that held you so close. But his burden grows heavy on your shoulders and it’s tearing you down little by little. He promises you that it’ll all be over soon. But how long is soon?

Whenever it is, you’ll wait for it. And until then you’ll stay here in his arms, listening to the beat of his heart as the music twirls like thread around your bodies. 

Steve's phone rings disrupting the peaceful moment. He takes it out of his pocket and you see Natasha’s name on the screen.

“Hey Nat,” Steve greets. “Yeah, she’s with me. We’re at the mayor’s charity ball together.” 

You hear a muffled blessing on Natasha's side. 

“What’s wrong?” you whispered to him. 

Steve’s eyes grow wide as Natasha tells him what happened. “It’s about Quentin,” he tells you.

Your heart drops into your stomach. “What is it? Is he okay?” 

Steve quickly gest off the dance floor with you right behind him. 

“Steve, tell me what’s happening. Is Quentin all right?” 

Steve pauses for a second, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. “We have to go now,” he says, before calling the valet. 

“Can you at least tell me what’s wrong first?” you demanded, a million thoughts racing through your head. 

“He’s in the hospital.”

* * *

“Hi, I’m here for a patient,” you spoke to the receptionist in the ER at Bellevue Hospital. “His name is Quentin Beck.” 

Your fingers tapped on her desk impatiently as she looked through the database. You see Natasha walk through the hall and run up to her. “Nat, where’s Quentin?” 

“He’s doing alright. He’s unconscious but stable,” she assures, placing her hands on your arms. 

“How did this even happen?” 

Natasha looks at Steve, who stands there stiff and silent. He knows how it happened. Nat didn’t have to say a word, he already had it all figured out. You look at Steve, who looks away from you and start to catch on. 

“I don’t know what happened for sure,” Natasha started, “but I got an anonymous call telling me where to find him. I brought him here as fast as I could.” 

“Can I see him?” 

Nat nods silently and leads you. You’re practically stepping on her heels as you follow her through the hall. 

Steve walked behind you with a burdened guilt in his step. He wanted to say something. He wanted to console you while hidden tears slipped out on the ride there. But when he opened his mouth to speak, the words would just slip back into his throat. 

How many times was he going to mess it up until he got it right?

Nat stops at a room and lets you in first. You walk in to see Quentin sleeping peacefully with a chaotic mess of tubes and wires surrounding him. He had bruises and cuts on his face. His head was wrapped with bandages and had a cast on his right arm. 

You take small soft steps towards him, careful not to wake him. The sight of him ruins you and you start to sob quietly to yourself while standing near his bed. 

Steve pushes past Nat and places his hand on your shoulder. You jerk out from under his touch. 

“Don’t,” you say. 

“Baby, I just want to help,” Steve whispers. 

“Don’t you think you’ve helped enough?” you hissed at him. 

Steve’s taken aback. “How is this my fault?” he asks, offended. 

“Who else's fault would it be? Every bad thing that happens is somehow your fault,” you pointed at him with an accusatory finger. 

“Y/N, please,” Natasha tries to reason. 

“I’m sick of it! I’m sick of all the secrets— and, and the fear— and the frustration. I’m sick of the life you live! I’m sick of everything that you stand for!” you yelled. “Quentin did nothing wrong!”

“And neither did I!” he shouted. “You think I wanted him to get hurt?” 

“You’re right! You didn’t do anything wrong!” you barked. “I made the mistake. Being with you was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. You’ve been nothing but a curse for me and all I want,” you said, snapping the necklace off. You take his hand and slap it on his palm. “All I want is for you to leave me and my friend alone.” 

“Is—Is that really what you want?” he chokes out. 

“It is,” you snarled with unbridled disgust. “I want you to leave.” 

Steve doesn’t utter another word. His fingers curl around the necklace, trapping it in his palm. You could see the pain in his blue eyes, and although you felt a pang of regret it’s not enough to quell the pent up anger and frustration that you’ve carried for the past few months. 

He leaves without another word, taking Nat along with him.

You walk over to Quentin and take a seat by him on the bed. You curl your fingers around his bruised hand and give it a tight squeeze as tears fall from your eyes and onto the white sheets. Guilt rested on your chest as you looked at his battered body. 

Maybe it was better this way. 

For both of you.

* * *

“Steve, wait!” Nat calls, running behind him into the parking lot. 

Steve ignores as he stalks towards his car with wide strides. He felt nauseous. His head swam with a handful of half-formed regrets as his heart beat against his chest, aching to be released. 

“Steve,” Nat catches his shoulder and turns him around. 

“Just leave me alone, Nat” he shimmies her arm off of him rudely. 

“Steve, just slow down,” she continues to follow him. “You just need to calm down and think.” 

“Think about what?” he hurled at her. “What is there left to think about? She said everything she needed to say, clear for the whole damn hospital to hear.” 

Nat shakes her head. Thunder crackles above them in the dark night sky. “No, she’s just upset and frustrated.”

“And it’s my fault,” he says with a lump in his throat. “It’s always my fault. When she gets hurt. When she cries. I’m the reason why she can’t live a normal life. No one wants to be around her and it’s because of me,” he points to himself. 

“No, no don’t say that,” Nat denies. 

“For fuck’s sake, Nat, it’s not rocket science,” he barks, “It was gonna happen eventually. She was—,” his voice cracks, “she was gonna leave eventually.” 

“She didn’t leave,” Nat shook her head sympathetically, “you did. And even when she tells you to leave, you stay there. You plant yourself like a tree and stay there. She needs you, Steve, right now more than ever. She’s just upset and confused and blew up. Don’t take it so seriously, people say irrational things when they’re angry. She doesn’t mean it. She loves you, Steve. I know she does.” 

Steve refuses to listen. “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. I love her, Nat. I really fucking love her and I don’t wanna leave. But every day I stay with her, I take away pieces of her that make her so beautiful and leave her empty and afraid. I want her to be happy and if that can’t be with me then I’d rather leave than stay.” 

Another boom of thunder brings the rain down on them gently.

“So you’re just going to run away?” Nat asks him firmly. “You’re going to run away from everything that you’ve fought so hard for? You’re not even going to try to get her back? You can fix this if you try.” 

“I’ve been trying to fix it and look where we are now. Leaving is the best thing I can do.” He turns on his heel and walks to his car. 

“No! No it’s not,” she shouts. “It’s a cowardly thing to do. You’re acting like a coward.” 

Steve turns back on his heel towards her. “Because I am one!” He confesses with outstretched arms as if he was summoning the rain to fall on him. “I am a coward. I’m fucking scared, Nat. I’m scared out of my damn mind. I’m losing everything. It’s all slipping out of my hand and I don’t know how to stop it. I can act high and mighty all I want, but I’m just a boy who had to grow up too fast. And I’m tired. I’m really fucking tired of it all.” 

The rain hides his tears, but Nat can hear the pain in his voice. 

He points at the building behind. “She’s the only thing that makes me wanna stay on this goddamn planet and if anything happens to her and it’s because of me—I’ll never forgive myself.” 

Steve opens the door to his car. 

“Steve, you don’t have to do this,” Nat speaks up. “If you leave now, you might never get her back.” 

Steve looks at her. She stood beside him solemnly, raindrops dampening her jacket. Nose as red as her beautiful locks, sniffling to keep the tears in. 

Steve shakes his head with an apologetic smile. “I think this is what’s best for both of us.”

“Stevie,” Nat whispered. “I want you to be happy.” 

“I’ll be fine, Nat,” he assures. “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?” 

He chuckles. “You know I’m not really good at this whole romance thing. I keep messing up every time. I guess I’m just unlovable.” 

“You know I love you right?” she tells him. 

“Yeah, I love you too, Nat,” he wipes the tears from her eyes. It’s more of an affectionate gesture considering the rain plummeting down on them. 

She gives him a small smile. “Take care of her, alright? Double the security. Pay the bill. If they need anything you give it to them, okay?” She nods solemnly. 

“Now get in there before you catch death,” he orders. 

She wipes her face. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she jabs with a wider smile as she walks away. 

Steve gets in his car and exits the parking lot. He heads for the warehouse by the docks, not wanting to face being alone at home. 

Halfway through the drive, the tears just start to fall with your words replaying in his head over and over again. He blinks uncontrollably trying to clear his eyes so he could see the road. The pain ached like red hot coal in his chest, it glowed and burnt him at the same time. It throbbed and tortured him. 

“You did the right thing,” he murmured to himself. “You did the right thing.” 

He parks the car in front of the warehouse and takes a minute to compose himself before walking inside. Bucky pokes his head out of his office and runs to him. 

“Steve, there’s someone here to see you,” he says with urgency and panic. 

“I’m not in the mood, Buck,” Steve walks past him. “Tell ‘em to go home.” 

“Steve, it’s important,” Bucky replies. 

“Dammit Bucky, who’s so important that they need to see me at this damn hour of the night, huh?” Steve lashes out at him. 

“I was going to come tomorrow,” a familiar voice makes Steve’s ears perk and heart drop. 

That soft porcelain skin. Those perfectly perfect brown curls. Her painted red lips smiling at him softly. 

“But I just couldn’t wait.” 

Steve looks at her dumbfounded. It feels like a fever dream. 

“Peggy?”

* * *

_ 'Cause I am the one that's waited this long  
And I am the one that might get it wrong  
And I'll be the one that will love you the way I'm supposed to, girl  
But will you still love me when nobody wants me around?  
When I turn eighty-one and forget things, will you still be proud? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now we enter the third and final phase of our story.
> 
> lyrics are from happiness by rex orange county


	26. The Less I Know The Better

_ Steve stood slack against the bar, a drink in one hand and the other tucked in the pocket of his trousers, watching on as the party unravelled.  _

_ He hates it, really. The haughty air around men as women catered to their overblown egos with quaint smiles and giggles. Glasses of Cognac rested between their slender fingers adorned with signet rings and dainty diamonds. Extortionate trinkets of lustrous gold and silken silver adorned by women sparkled under the glimmering light, dipping into the cleavage of their hardly there dresses. The deliberate exaggeration of their appearance was like they were trying to make a statement.  _

_ He received a fair share of lingering gazes shot his way, but he paid them no attention— all while yearning the attention of one. _

_ Peggy Carter.  _

_ They had met at a party just like this one. She frequented them often as a socialite. The side glances turned into compliments, which in turn evolved into fits of laughter and an offer for a ride home that never found its destination.  _

_ She was an enigma to Steve. She had a beauty that made those billboard beauties look as paper thin as they are, she was something real and robust.  _

_ Peggy’s hair was tied into a low tight bun, leaving the curve of her bare back as a sweet tease. Her dress was a heavenly, shimmering golden that twinkled like the stars under the crystal chandeliers that hung above. _

_ Even in a room as packed as this one, Peggy was hard to miss. The gold dress was definitely a statement for sure. Elegant and chic. Not too flashy. But what stuck out to him the most was the way her eyes sparkled with a mischievous excitement for the night of revelry ahead.  _

_ Her eyes scanned the room with determination in search of someone. When her eyes met his, she smiled. So beautiful it was like the stars themselves, decided to rest behind the cushion of her soft lips.  _

_ Steve gives her a sheepish smile, lifting his glass towards her as a greeting, calling her to him. He turns away and asks the bartender for a refill as he waits for her to come over to him.  _

_ “You made it,” she says as she approaches him. He turns and she wraps his arms around his neck pulling him in for a kiss that caught him off guard. “I thought you said you weren’t coming.”  _

_ Steve lets out a breathy laugh. “I changed my mind at the last minute. I couldn’t leave my best girl all alone.”  _

_ “Your best girl?” she repeats with amused emphasis.  _

_ “Uh, I mean,” he scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry?” he winces.  _

_ “No, it’s fine,” she shakes her head. “I like it.”  _

_ Peggy caresses his face with her hand, brushing her thumb along the curve of his jaw, bringing his lips closer to hers. “I like it very much,” she teases.  _

_ Steve closes the gap between, pressing a gentle kiss on her lips. She laced her fingers with his. “Dance with me?” she pulls him along.  _

_ Steve follows her blindly. They start to dance with cheeky grins. Peggy looks at Steve lovingly, cheeks tinted the color of a soft pink rose, and it has him reeling on the inside.  _

_ There’s that static again, that crackling in the air that came when he was within twenty feet of her. It makes him feel like a teenage boy again. Sweaty palms, heated ears, hazy thoughts.  _

_ He was never really good with girls. They were an enigma to him and distanced himself from them after a handful of embarrassing experiences from his highschool years. The newly-crowned King of Brooklyn may have the world in the palm of his hand, but women were something he failed to acquire.  _

_ But Peggy was different. With her, the words came easy and the heart eyes even easier. It was always natural, never premeditated. She brought it out of him and he gave it to her willingly. _

_ Her gaze slid to the side. He pushed her closer to him, his nose tickling her ear. She felt his lips softly graze against her slender neck. She finds the courage to meet his gaze and he melts right there. He lifts her face gently by the chin and kisses her like she’s the air he breathes.  _

_ Nothing so pretty could possibly harm him right? _

* * *

“Peggy?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Stevie,” Peggy says. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks sharply. 

His demeanor shows as if he was unaffected, but on the inside he was all sorts of confusion. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to, the thick smell of Peggy’s perfume had taken him back to the past, unfurling memories that he had been stored away in the deepest chambers of his heart. 

Peggy chuckles with a shake of the head. “That’s just like you. Not even a how are you or a where have you been? Straight to the things that matter.” 

“I don’t have time for your bullshit,” he snaps, “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“What do you think I’m doing here?” she counters with the same attitude. “I’m here to see you of course.” 

“And to what do I owe this honor?” he chided. “I have nothing to do with you, so get the fuck outta here.” 

Steve turns on his heel to walk away, but Peggy grabs him by the sleeve. 

“Stevie, I know you hate me,” she admits. “I know I messed up. I took everything we had for granted and threw it away when something more promising came along.” She looks up at him with glossy eyes, pleading and repentant. “But I’ve realized now that all I’ve ever needed was you. You were better than all the things I chased after.” 

She sheds a tear. 

_ Fuck _

“I spent so many nights thinking about you, thinking about the way that we used to be and how fucking stupid I was for letting you go. I’m not asking for things to return to the way they were before,” she wipes the tears away then sniffles. “I just want your forgiveness and a chance to make things better.” 

Steve stands still. He was calm on the inside as Peggy poured out her regret in the form of salty tears at his feet. 

He didn’t know what to do or how to respond, but something within him stirs. A familiar ache starts to quell in his heart, trying to pull him down to her, but he couldn’t. 

Not now. 

Not after he just lost you.

It’s all happening too fast and he can’t keep up with it. 

His loyalty was still to you. Even after all that was said and done, that place that Peggy once held belonged to you and he couldn’t just give it back without a passing thought. 

But Peggy was here with him now, a prodigal lover begging for his forgiveness, while you were in the hospital with the one _you_ _loved_. 

The one you loved more than him. 

Exhausted, Steve falters and drops to his knees. He cups Peggy’s face with his hands, pries her hands from her face, and wipes her tears away. 

She looks at him with shame and an inkling of hope. 

He forces a small smile. His tongue holds back, unwilling to say what his mind intends. 

Forgiveness doesn't mean love. It was only recompense for deeds committed in the past. It was only to ease the pain in Peggy’s heart and nothing else. 

With brute force it rolls off his tongue as a tender calling home. 

“I forgive you.”

* * *

_ “Hey, what’s your name?”  _

_ You look up to see a boy around your age with wild brown hair and bandages plastered over his knees. You freeze by his appearance, and don’t know how to respond to his rather simple question. _

_ “Can’t you talk?” he asks.  _

_ You stay silent. You weren’t supposed to talk to strangers.  _

_ He grows impatient by your hesitation to answer. “You’re kinda weird,” he deadpans.  _

_ Not the first time you’ve heard that. You ignore him and return to your book, thinking he’d get the idea to scram. Instead, to your surprise and horror, he comes and sits next to you.  _

_ “What are you reading?” he asks, trying to look over your shoulder to get a glimpse of the page. _

_ You close the book slightly, obstructing his view. He catches the title on the cover. “The Lightning Thief.” _

_ “I’ve read that book before,” he exclaims.  _

_ You give him a cold stare and return to your reading.  _

_ “I thought it was really funny when Percy stabbed Ares,” he started to babble. “Like he’s the GOD OF WAR and he gets stabbed by some kid.”  _

_ “I didn’t get to that part yet,” you mumbled, giving him a glare.  _

_ “So you DO talk,” he taunts. “That’s nice to know. My name’s Quentin,” he extends a hand.  _

_ You return to your reading without another word.  _

_ “I see you’re a girl of few words,” he says. “That’s nice. I don’t like people that talk too much anyway. How about we be friends, huh?”  _

_ Your ears perk at the question. Friends?  _

_ You quickly dismiss the thought of something like that possibly happening. But the prospect of having a friend and one that liked Percy Jackson seemed like a good bargain. _

_ “I’ll take your silence as a “yes”,” he grins and you grin on the inside. “And since you don’t have a name, I’ll call you Annabeth.”  _

_ “I have a name,” you said.  _

_ “Mind telling me then?” _

_ “It’s Y/N.” _

_ “Nice to meet ya, Y/N,” Quentin says. “Let’s be friends, huh?”  _

_ “Uh yeah sure,” you whispered back.  _

_ He spits on his hand and extends it towards you. You look at him confused and slightly disgusted. “Well?” _

_ “Well what?” _

_ “We gotta shake on it to make it a binding agreement,” he replies.  _

_ “Do we have to?” you said, not wanting to touch his hand.  _

_ “Yes, we have to,” he replies. “This is how the official people officiate things.” You contemplate on his words for a moment. “Come on already,” he shakes his hand.  _

_ Oh what the heck? _

_ You spit on your hand and he slaps his against yours. You squirm at the feeling between your clasped hands. As soon as he lets go, you wipe your hand on the side of your pants.  _

_ Quentin drags you along with him to go hunting for a tiger which just ended up being a feisty cat that wandered the alleys. By the end of the day you had scuffed up knees and scratches on your face from your wild encounters with the Tiger of Brooklyn.  _

_ With clumsy, tripping feet you followed Quentin through every adventure. He was always getting you into trouble, but just as easily getting you out.  _

* * *

“Would you quit crying already?” Quentin rasped. 

“I’m not crying,” you retorted, rubbing your teary eyes, “there’s just something in my eye.” 

“You’re a real bad liar,” he laughed, then hissed at the sharp pain that arose in his abdomen. You move to help him. “I’m okay,” he assures with a hand. “It just hurts a bit.” 

You giggle softly. “Just a bit?” 

“Yeah, just a teeny weeny bit,” he measures with his fingers, making a smile appear on your lips. 

“Where’s that dorky boyfriend of yours?” 

Your smile was short-lived. “Oh, um—he’s busy.” You shuffle on the edge of the bed and dawdle with your fingers. “Quentin, you know that what happened to you was Steve’s fault.”

“How is it his fault?” he questioned. 

“The men that attacked you they’re from a rival gang.” 

“Yeah, I get that, but how the hell is that Steve’s fault? He’s not the one who sent those guys after me.”

“But they hurt you to get to me. None of this would’ve happened if I wasn’t dating him,” you said angrily. 

Quentin raises a brow in speculation. “Did you say something to him?”

You pause for a moment and sigh. “I sent him away last night,” you confessed. “I got angry at him and told him I never wanted to see him again.” 

“That’s a bit dramatic.”

“I didn’t mean to say it.”

“But you did,” he sighed. “Cause you have minor anger issues.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah you do,” he retorted. “You get angry and then you say stupid shit you don’t really mean all the time. I’d know.” 

“It’s not my fault, okay?” you argued. 

“And neither is it his.” 

Your eyes divert from his gaze. 

He’s right and you know that he is. 

“So what are you going to do now?” Quentin breaks the silence. 

“There’s nothing to do,” you shake your head. “I told him to leave and he’s gone. We’re done.” 

“Just like that?” he countered. “I can’t believe you’re being this shallow.” 

“Quentin, you almost got killed because of me. As long as I stay with him I’ll always have a target on my back,” you confessed. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder or with the fear that the people I love are in danger because of me. I did what was best.”

“For you.”

“It’s good for the both of us.” 

“But you love each other.” 

You tugged on your fingers, eyes growing cloudy with tears. 

“If he loved me he would’ve called by now,” you murmured. “He would’ve done something by now.” 

“Y/N…”

“I know I fuck everything up, but he always came back,” you said, wiping the tears before they fell too far. “I’ve hurt him so many times. Said so many things that I never wanted to say. But he always stood by me. In the dark. In the cold. He’s been nothing but good to me. God, He gave me his mother’s necklace for crying out loud,” you hid your face in your face as you began to sob. “I don’t deserve someone like him. And he doesn’t deserve someone who has a shit ton of issues like me.” 

Quentin never saw you like this before, so deflated. Shoulders slump, face red, waves of emotion streaming down your cheeks. He never thought he’d live to see the day that you broke into tears, and all for that dumbass mobster.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him. But he would’ve left eventually. When he realizes I’m not good enough for him, he would’ve left the same way Mom did,” you confessed through the tears. 

Quentin’s heart falls at the mention of your mother. He knew just how much she meant to you. How scarred and broken she had left you when you were a child. 

“You know she used to say I was a lot like my Dad. And sometimes I see it. I’m just as horrible as him. I end up hurting everyone around me.” 

“Look at me.” Quentin tugs on your hand. He takes your face into his hand and wipes the salty tears from your face. “You’re nothing like that bastard, you hear me?” 

“Fuck what your mom said. She never got the chance to see the person you grew up to be. You’re strong and beautiful. You went from a foster home to fucking Columbia. You’re at the top of your game and you think that comes from him?” he hurls before his voice turns sweet. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Your face falls into his hands. “That’s all you, Y/N. It’s all you,” he whispers. 

“And even if the whole world turns its back on you. I'm still here,” he smiles with the corners of his glossy eyes crinkling, “and I always will be. You’ll never lose me.” 

The corners of your lips shakily twist upwards as you fall into him, your face delving into the curve of his neck. “I love you,” you murmured against him. 

“Yeah me too,” he gushed awkwardly. “I mean someone’s gotta.” 

You part from him just enough to look at him. “Dick.” 

“Bitch,” he taunts.

“Together we make a ditch.”

* * *

You take a deep breath, leaning against the wall of the corridor outside of Quentin’s room. Your fingers shake as you try to find Steve’s contact. You tap the call button and place it against your ear. 

The phone dial is making you anxious, so you took a seat. You take deep breaths as the phone dials with one leg shaking maniacally while waiting for him to pick up. 

_ beep-beep-beep _

The heart monitor echoes the beat of your own heart. Eerily calm. Heavy and systematic. Achingly slow. 

It connects and your breath hitches. 

“Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice—”

You hang up, debating whether you should call again. You wipe your thumb over the screen, looking at the picture of the both of you wearing face masks and making goofy faces that you kept as your wallpaper.

A small smile forms on your face as the ache in your heart begins to swell. 

_ He could be busy. He’ll call back when he has the time. _

At least you were hoping that he would. 

* * *

Days passed and Quentin was finally discharged from the hospital with only a few aching bones, but nothing a few painkillers couldn’t handle. 

The doctors marveled at his speedy recovery and Quentin simply bragged, saying he was “built different”. 

Now, the both of you were at the Grand Central Station waiting for Quentin’s train to JFK to arrive. You advised him that it might be better for him to take some time off, but Quentin was stubborn about going to California. The internship in Silicon Valley meant the world to him, and he wasn’t going to back away now. 

You understood that and you wanted that for him. But separation anxiety was a bitch. 

“Did you get everything?” 

“Yeah.”

“Extra underwear? Deodorant? Condoms?” you interrogated.

Quentin huffed. “I’m going to San Francisco, Y/N, not the Serengeti. I’m pretty sure they’ll have condoms over there.”

“Probably,” you thought. “But then again, why would you need them? I highly doubt that you’ll get laid.” 

“Oh really?” he guffaws. “I’m more fuckable than I look, you know.” 

You shrugged. “Your body count says otherwise.” 

Quentin jabs you in the side with his hand, making you yelp. “It was a joke!” you laugh. 

“Not a good one,” he grunts, with crossed arms. 

You can hear the train coming down the tracks. “The train’s here,” you smiled with a heavy heart. 

It shouldn’t hurt so much. It’s not like he’s leaving forever but it felt like he was. A summer without Quentin felt incomplete. 

You haven’t spoken to Steve for almost two weeks, and he never tried to contact you, making you believe that whatever was between the two of you was left in the dust. 

And while the pain of losing him was tearing you apart on the inside, you were good at showing others that you were perfectly fine. 

You spent the days with Quentin, helping him heal and then pack for his internship because he was absolute shit at it. But when the nights came and you were left alone in the emptiness of your apartment, those sweet moments with Steve came like a thief in the night. 

The warmth of his body. The giggles and the whining. The words he’d whisper in your ear under the moonlight. 

Losing Steve was hard enough, but now losing Quentin you felt like you were stuck in No Man’s Land—indeterminately lost. 

The both of you watched the train pull up and your heartbeat begins to increase. 

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” 

“Go to him,” Quentin says. 

“What?” you ask confused. 

“Go to Steve,” he says, slightly embarrassed in his stature. 

_ No, no, you’re not going to do that. _

“Quentin, I—” you start to stutter, trying to come with an excuse. Quentin places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it tightly while shaking you. 

“You’re stubborn,” he said. “But I know you want to talk to him, so this is your sign to do it.” 

“But, it’s been so long,” you mumble, “What’s the point anymore?” 

“Y/N, you love him right?” he asks. You nod shyly. “Then that’s enough of a reason to.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to talk?” 

“Something tells me he wants to, he’s just waiting for you.” Quentin smiles. “So promise me you will?” 

You nod. “Alright, I promise,” you chuckle. 

“That’s my girl,” he grins, pulling you in for a hug. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” you mumble against his shoulder. 

“Yeah me too.” 

You pull apart from him. Quenin grabs his duffel bag and swings it over his shoulder. 

“Call me when you get there,” you tell him. 

“Yeah, I will,” he nods. “See ya kid,” he pokes your forehead.

You grunt. “We’re the same fucking age.”

* * *

You stood at the door of the manor, preparing yourself to see Steve. 

His car was parked right out the door so you knew he had to be home. 

“Alright, Y/N, how hard could it be?” you tell yourself. “It’s just Steve what the hell are you so worried about? Right,” you nod while ringing the doorbell, “it’s gonna be okay.” 

You wait a minute before ringing the bell again.

No one comes. 

You remember that he gave you a spare key and dug through your bag to find it. Pulling it out, you open the door and walk in without a second thought. 

The air in the manor was stale, something felt out of place. Making you instantly regret your decision to walk in, but you weren’t going to leave until you talked to Steve. 

You closed the door behind you with a soft thud as if you were a thief at night. You take a few steps into the foyer, and instantly notice a coat that wasn’t yours but become distracted at the sound of footsteps scurrying down the hall. 

Lucky appears from the hall and barks when he sees you. He barks in excitement as he approaches you. You get down on your knees and let him embrace you with kisses that made you chuckle.

“Yeah, I missed you too, buddy,” you cooed, ruffling the fur under his chest. Lucky is ecstatic with your return, as he bounces on top of you, making you fall back on your butt. “Okay, Lucky, I get it,” you chuckle. 

“Who are you?” a voice calls from the staircase. 

You turn your head to see a woman standing there. She’s drop-dead gorgeous with an air of royalty around her that instantly makes you feel inferior. You stand up as Lucky stands beside you growling quietly. 

You stood there completely dumbfounded. You should've been the one asking her that question. 

_ What the fuck was another woman doing in your boyfriend’s house? _

“Didn’t you hear me?” she asks, her voice piercing the silence. “How did you get in here?” 

You’re numb to your surroundings. 

As if on cue, Steve enters the room skimming through the papers in his hand. “Peggy, who was at the—” 

Both of you turn to look at each other at the same time and it all starts to sink in like a torrent. 

This could all just be a big misunderstanding. You prayed to whatever sat up there in the sky that it was. 

No matter what you did, Steve wouldn’t do that to you—right? At the end of the day, through all of the trials the two of you went through he would always remain loyal to you, love you the way that he always promised he would. 

He looks at you as if he’s been caught red-handed and you knew right then and there that those promises may have not meant much to him as they had meant to you. 

“Y/N,” you hear him call your name for the first time in days, but it doesn’t feel the same. It makes you feel unwanted. As if he was a stranger. A stranger that knew all of your secrets, who knew how to pull you apart and break your heart in the worst ways possible. And deep down it felt long overdue, after all that you’ve said and done, this felt like the right sort of punishment. 

You can’t bear to look at him when the next few words leave his lips. You wished you just never came at all. 

“What are you doing here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes, its getting pretty tense...
> 
> as always i'm really sorry for the extremely late update. writer's block paired with school is such a pain in the ass. hopefully this chapter can compensate for that? 
> 
> thank you so much for the lovely comments on the last chapter, I didn't see them till super late and felt kinda bad. I will try to be more receptive with my lovely readers from now on!!! Thank you so much for the support (and patience) you've all been giving me and i'm so shocked with the 600 kudos like wowowowowo this is my second fic with such a huge number and its making me emotional 😭. thank you all so much 💕


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